 | The Poetry of Real Life |  |
ON SEEING A WHALE ON SHORE.
There lies the giant of the deep—the wave,That made him choral music as he went,
And, 'neath his huge weight, lightly rose and bent,
Each movement seconding, now o'er his grave
Rolls out its muffled dirge, and seems to lave,
With sympathetic effort and intent,
The mighty form, but late its ornament,
Of him who of his watery realms doth crave
In vain mere space to die in! there's naught lives,
But Nature conscious seems of its decease,
And, in some sort, a recognition gives!
And, so believing, we, at least, increase
A wise regard for Life, which still survives,
To make us love all things and live at peace!
| The Poetry of Real Life | |