Sonnets Round the Coast by H. D. Rawnsley |
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PORTLAND. |
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 | Sonnets Round the Coast |  |
14
XII. PORTLAND.
Here Hope is dead, and Love has flown away,And only here the beast within the man;
By bolt and cage and fortress barbican
Curbed, and in chains, can pass hard hours away;
Till the red hand is raised again to slay,
And feet that once so innocently ran
Strive against desperate odds for larger span—
Then the swift bullet sings, and all is clay.
Dark like a gibbet, o'er the quarry hangs
The frequent crane, and with its funeral dirge
The far-off sea-bell sounds upon the height,
And only fear of death avails to urge
The sullen toil of the laborious gangs,
Till death in mercy bring the dreaded night.
| Sonnets Round the Coast | |