Classic Poem

Alone on this desolate border —
On this ruggedest, rim'd frontier,
Where the hills huddle up in disorder
Like a fold in mortal fear —
Where the mountains are out at the elbow,
And their yellow coats seedy and sere —
Where the river runs sullen and yellow
This dismalest day of the year.

I go up and down on the granite,
Like an unholy ghost under bans.
Oh, Christ! for the eloquent quiet!
For the final folding of hands!
What am I? Where am I going?
I look at the lizard that glides
Over the mossy boulder
With green epaulets on his sides.

My feet are in dust to the ankles,
My heart, it is dustier still;
Will never the dust be levelled
Till the heart is laid under the hill?
Why this yearning and longing?
This dull desolation and void?
Pussy cat seeking a corner?
Alone! yet for ever annoyed?

I look at the sun shining over,
A cloud is swinging on hinges
And is trying his glory to cover.
But see! his beams in the fringes
Are tangled and fastened in falling,
And a sailor above us is calling
" Untangle the ravels and fringes. "

In grim battle lines above us
Gray, oarless ships are wheeling —
A flash — a crash appalling —
A hurling of red-hot spears —
Hark to the thunder calling
In fierce infernal chorus.
Now silver sails are falling
Like silver sheens before us.
What Nelson to fame aspires
In the chartless bluer deep
Where navies and armies track?
Lo! I have seen their fires
At night as they bivouac;
And they battle, and bleed, and weep,
For this rain is warm as tears.

Oh! why was I ever a drearmer?
Better a brute on the plain,
Or one who believes his redeemer
Is greed, and gold, and gain,
Or one who can riot and revel,
Than be pierced with intolerable pain
Of poesy darling, in travail,
That will not be born from the brain.

O bride by the breathing ocean
With lustrous and brimming eye,
Pour out the Lethean potion
Till a lustrum rolleth by,
Lulling a soul's commotion,
Plashing against the sky —
Calming a living spectre
With its tow hands tossed on high.

Are sea winds mild and mellow
Where my sun-browned babies are,
A-weaving silk and yellow
Seamed sunbeams in their hair?

Go on and on in disorder
O cloud with the silver rim,
While tangled up in your border
The glinting sunbeams swim.