Holy of holies Confessions of an anarchist [by J. E. Barlas] |
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9
V.
[Behold me wrecked, gone down in shattering seas]
Behold me wrecked, gone down in shattering seas,Swathed in dead seaweed, beaten on dead rocks,
Drifted and driven with oft-repeated shocks
Among the deeps of life. Woe and disease
Smite on me like the whirlpool and the breeze;
Yet 'mid the shriek of the hoarse flying flocks,
The hissing sea, the howling wind that mocks,
I keep a good heart, and am well at ease.
What though my shivered armour gape to drink
The bitterness of every wandering tide?
What though I have no harbourage, no home?
My sightless hulk feels from the orient's brink,
Slanting across the waters woful-wide,
Love's holy dawn that kindles the waste foam.
Aug 1st, 1885.
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