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Artist — Princess Posted 3 years ago ( 2017/09/13 13:53:39 )
Locked due to 6+months of inactivity in the thread. If you would like this thread unlocked, please PM a mod.




I love poems of all kinds and I would like to see people share which ones they love. Poems are like word masterpieces where each word fits in its own place and adds to the beauty of the whole. You can add your own or pick one that really inspires you. Remember to give credit where credit is due! And most of all have fun!
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Artist — Princess Posted 3 years ago ( 2017/09/13 14:11:29 )
I will begin by sharing this poem written by Edgar Allan Poe "Eldorado"

GAILY bedight,
A gallant knight,
In sunshine and in shadow,
Had journeyed long,
Singing a song,
In search of Eldorado.

But he grew old --
This knight so bold --
And o'er his heart a shadow
Fell as he found
No spot of ground
That looked like Eldorado.

And, as his strength
Failed him at length,
He met a pilgrim shadow --
"Shadow," said he,
"Where can it be --
This land of Eldorado?"

"Over the Mountains
Of the Moon,
Down the Valley of the Shadow,
Ride, boldly ride,"
The shade replied, --
"If you seek for Eldorado!"
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Donator Posted 3 years ago ( 2017/09/14 10:29:22 )
From one of my favorite authors, Jose Luis Borges. I think in Spanish sounds better, there's even rhymes and stuff, but you can get the gist in English.

To A Cat

Mirrors are not more silent
nor the creeping dawn more secretive;
in the moonlight, you are that panther
we catch sight of from afar.
By the inexplicable workings of a divine law,
we look for you in vain;
More remote, even, than the Ganges or the setting sun,
yours is the solitude, yours the secret.
Your haunch allows the lingering
caress of my hand. You have accepted,
since that long forgotten past,
the love of the distrustful hand.
You belong to another time. You are lord
of a place bounded like a dream.
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Voltie — She/They Posted 3 years ago ( 2017/09/15 01:57:00 )
So while this poem is not necessaiily one of my favorites....it does have a deep meaning for me. I wrote this after hanging out with some friend of mine from High School...a few months after writing this poem...one of my friends life was cut short when he fell of the 9th story balcony at a college party. I hand presented this poem to his parents with a dedication to him at his funeral...they hugged me...his father who is a Marine hugged me tighter than i've ever been hugged and wept into my shoulder.....sorry for bumming the thread but i felt that i need to explain just how much this poem means to me.

A Night's Journey by Eric Jobes(AKADeimsoPoe24)

Through sheets of cool mist and clouds of blinding fog
Three friends go for an eerie nighttime jog
With Selene's silvery loving cast upon our trail
..Oh what a spooky night this will be, without fail!
Alas, our fun had to end before the Witching Hour
But let it not make our moods sour
For we will have another darkened stroll soon
and hopefully once again be it under the light of the full moon
Until then may you be free of Nightmares, Ghouls, and the Wight
And we shall meet again when the sky is filled with Selene's light
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Voltie Posted 3 years ago ( 2017/09/15 01:59:28 )
My favorite poem... or rather, the only one I've felt anything towards is Charge of the Light Brigade by Alfred, Lord Tennyson. It goes as follows:

I
Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
“Forward, the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns!” he said.
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

II
“Forward, the Light Brigade!”
Was there a man dismayed?
Not though the soldier knew
Someone had blundered.
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die.
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

III
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volleyed and thundered;
Stormed at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of hell
Rode the six hundred.

IV
Flashed all their sabres bare,
Flashed as they turned in air
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wondered.
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right through the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reeled from the sabre stroke
Shattered and sundered.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.

V
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volleyed and thundered;
Stormed at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell.
They that had fought so well
Came through the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.

VI
When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered.
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred!
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Voltie — He/Cuddler Posted 3 years ago ( 2017/09/15 02:06:54 )
If you should fray, or fall apart, in any where or when.
I'll always try, with all my heart, to make you whole again.
But if you choose to fall behind, and shake and break to bits.
The day may come where I don't find a single piece that fits.
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Artist — Princess Posted 3 years ago ( 2017/09/26 06:32:35 )
My sister's favorite one:

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

-Robert Frost
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Artist — Princess Posted 2 years ago ( 2017/10/23 01:10:18 )
@Boris: Is this it?

Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge.

When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.

All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor. Those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by. The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.

They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent. His eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster.

You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.

Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together....

Author unknown...
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Artist — Princess Posted 2 years ago ( 2017/10/23 01:25:44 )
@Boris: I am so sorry about your pet, I know what its like to lose a cat too..Here is a song actually but it works as a poem too. (related to heaven but unrelated to animals) Hope it makes you feel better.

"When I Get Where I'm Going" by Brad Paisely


When I get where I'm going
On the far side of the sky
The first thing that I'm gonna do
Is spread my wings and fly

I'm gonna land beside a lion
And run my fingers through his mane
Or I might find out what it's like
To ride a drop of rain

Yeah when I get where I'm going
There'll be only happy tears
I will shed the sins and struggles
I have carried all these years
And I'll leave my heart wide open
I will love and have no fear
Yeah when I get where I'm going
Don't cry for me down here

I'm gonna walk with my grand daddy
And he'll match me step for step
And I'll tell him how I missed him
Every minute since he left
Then I'll hug his neck

So much pain and so much darkness
In this world we stumble through
All these questions I can't answer
So much work to do

But when I get where I'm going
And I see my maker's face
I'll stand forever in the light
Of his amazing grace
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Donator — Lewd <3 Posted 2 years ago ( 2017/10/23 01:27:16 )
Haikus sure are fun
But sometimes they don't make sense
Refrigerator
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I am, to put it mildly, an incorrigible pervert. If I make you uncomfortable, please let me know.

Voltie Posted 2 years ago ( 2017/10/24 10:31:37 )
My all time fav!
Ozymandias by Percy Bysshe Shelley

met a traveller from an antique land,
Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal, these words appear:
My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;
Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”

It's tied up with Good Night Moon.
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Moderator — Female Posted 2 years ago ( 2017/10/26 14:03:24 )
I...
This one makes me pause every time I read it.
I still have it memorized from when I was a teen, even. I haven't thought about this poem at all for ages...
Thanks for reminding me of this treasure, Saerya.

It was in The Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul.

I went to a birthday party
But I remembered what you said.
You told me not to drink at all,
So I had a sprite instead.
I felt proud of myself,
The way you said I would,
That I didn’t choose to drink and drive,
Though some friends said I should.
I knew I made a healthy choice and
your advice to me was right
as the party finally ended
and the kids drove out of sight.
I got into my own car,
Sure to get home in one piece,
Never knowing what was coming,
Something I expected least.
Now I’m lying on the pavement.
I can hear the policeman say,
“The kid that cause this wreck was drunk.”
His voice seems far away.
My own blood is all around me,
As I try hard not to cry.
I can hear the paramedic say,
“This girl is going to die.”
I’m sure the guy had no idea,
While he was flying high,
because he chose to drink and drive
that I would have to die.
So why do people do it,
Knowing that it ruins lives?
But now the pain is cutting me
Like a hundred stabbing knives.
Tell my sister not to be afraid,
Tell Daddy to be brave.
And when I go to heaven to
Put ‘Daddy’s Girl’ on my grave.
Someone should have taught him
That it’s wrong to drink and drive.
Maybe if his mom and dad had,
I’d still be alive.
My breath is getting shorter,
I’m getting really scared.
These are my final moments,
And I’m so unprepared.
I wish that you could hold me, Mom,
As I lie here and die.
I wish that I could say
I love you and good-bye.

Author: Unknown

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Donator — Whatever Posted 2 years ago ( 2017/10/28 18:43:16 )
I'm not one to read poetry of my own volition (this was in fact required reading in school), but considering this poem has stuck with me, I figured I'd share it.

O Captain! My Captain!

BY WALT WHITMAN

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
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Donator — he/they Posted 2 years ago ( 2017/10/29 05:17:42 )
There's a poem from the game Dragon Age: Origins that I love *_*

'Swiftly do stars burn a path across the sky,
Hast'ning to place one last kiss upon your eye.
Tenderly land enfolds you in slumber,
Softening the rolling thunder.
Dagger now sheathed, bow no longer tense.
During this, your last hour, only silence.'

It's one of my favorites!
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(i'm a slow replier but I promise I'll get back to you )

Donator — Whatever Posted 2 years ago ( 2017/10/29 11:15:58 )
Another poem that was required reading in school, and is essentially my namesake. I do, however, have a collection of Poe's works that I hope to eventually start reading for my own pleasure.

The Raven

BY EDGAR ALLAN POE

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—
Only this and nothing more.”

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
“’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—
This it is and nothing more.”

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;—
Darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”—
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—
’Tis the wind and nothing more!”

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as “Nevermore.”

But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—
Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before—
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”
Then the bird said “Nevermore.”

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of ‘Never—nevermore’.”

But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—
On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—
Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—
“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted—nevermore!
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Nevermore

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Artist — Princess Posted 2 years ago ( 2018/03/10 16:25:47 )
@Quoth the Raven: I knew "The Raven" would show up here eventually. Its just so classic and one of my favorites!

The Tiger by William Blake

Tiger Tiger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies.
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, and what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp,
Dare its deadly terrors clasp!

When the stars threw down their spears
And water’d heaven with their tears:
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tiger Tiger burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
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Donator Posted 2 years ago ( 2018/03/20 02:58:36 )
I Love Poe 's stories. But since y'all already shared his stuff, I'll share something else.
This is my favorite sonnet by Shakespeare. Taken from here.
If you read it with proper iambic stresses on the syllables, it sounds SO Sassy. Go on, try it!

SONNET 130
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.
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Artist — Princess Posted 2 years ago ( 2018/04/3 12:29:05 )

I think this might be my new favorite poem of all time.

“A Psalm of Life” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each tomorrow
Find us farther than today.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world’s broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act,—act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o’erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;

Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.
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Voltie — She/It Posted 2 years ago ( 2018/04/5 23:32:13 )
I found this poem while actually reading the literary magazine I work for for a change. I love the imagery and correlation used between the pull between people and the pull between planets. Please see the original here.

Note: I took out line spacing to save space so it might be a little off honestly. >w<

"Autopilot" by Ciello Maxin:

The rises and falls are frequent,
somehow,
should there exist a possibility
of waves being locked in,
no,
waves being pumped from
this cardiac muscle?
The walls of my chest
must be holding
the bottom of an ocean,
A barrel, quite strong enough
to hold crests and troughs
A drum, so loud
so loud only when you’re near.
I could not be mistaken,
could I?
Science has taught me
that the moon can pull
all moving waters
the Earth cannot hold onto.
You must be made out of
the celestial bodies I’ve known
like the back of my hand,
affecting,
no,
messing
with all the supposed
gravitational pull,
How can you pull
all heartstrings in my chest,
the ones I can never hold onto?
I must be a planet.
The rises and falls are frequent,
somehow,
since when did my heart
start running on autopilot?
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Artist — Princess Posted 2 years ago ( 2018/04/6 00:15:16 )
This poem reminds me of pirates and sailors from the days of old.

“Sea Fever” - John Masefield

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.
I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.
I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.
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