jueves, 1 de junio de 2017

Sleep, Mother, Sleep - Anonymous


Sleep, Mother, Sleep - Anonymous

The Sonnet Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Sonnet - Silence Thomas Hood
The Sorrow of Love William Butler Yeats
Tea Time Emmy Veronica Sanders
To a Child Embracing his Mother Thomas Hood
To Mary Samuel Lover
The Young Man’s Song William Butler Yeats

Le siècle - John Clark Ridpath

The century passes as a broken dream
That fades into the darkness ere the dawn!
The hopes it cherished and its griefs are gone
As spirit-shadows on Time’s silent stream!
The outcry and the anguish of it seem
Like echoes on dusk hills—like lights upon
The haunted borders of oblivion—
Pale will-o’-wisps of a disordered scheme.
O thou New Age that comest! welcome thrice—
More welcome than the ever-welcome birth
Of the expected love-child of our youth!
Bring us a nobler portion—nobler twice
Than ever yet was given unto earth!
Bring us our freedom—bring us love and truth.

Shipwreck - Mary Weston Fordham

Night and a starless sky,
Ship on wild billows tost,
With tattered sails and opening seams,
And deck bestrewn with falling beams,
Swift plunging to her doom.

Red lightnings round her flash,
Loud thunders crash and roar,
And the noble vessel mounts the crest
Of the reeking waves, then sinks to rest
Mid carnival of woe.

The Petrel soars aloft,
Wailing her hymn of death,
And the dirge like sounds pierce the blackened sky,
While the crew send forth one anguished cry,
Sinking to lowest depth.

Some ships go out to sea
That never more return,
Souls that from heaven in infancy come,
Tarnished and ruined by sin may become,
Like the Dove to the Ark they never return,
But sink as ship to doom.

Rosalie - Washington Allston

“O POUR upon my soul again
That sad, unearthly strain,
That seems from other worlds to plain;
Thus falling, falling from afar,
As if some melancholy star
Had mingled with her light her sighs,
And dropped them from the skies!

“No,—never came from aught below
This melody of woe,
That makes my heart to overflow,
As from a thousand gushing springs
Unknown before; that with it brings
This nameless light,—if light it be,—
That veils the world I see.

“For all I see around me wears
The hue of other spheres;
And something blent of smiles and tears
Comes from the very air I breathe.
O, nothing, sure, the stars beneath
Can mould a sadness like to this,—
So like angelic bliss.”

So, at that dreamy hour of day,
When the last lingering ray
Stops on the highest cloud to play,—
So thought the gentle Rosalie,
As on her maiden reverie
First fell the strain of him who stole
In music to her soul.

Queen-Anne’s-Lace - William Carlos Williams

Her body is not so white as
anemony petals nor so smooth—nor
so remote a thing. It is a field
of the wild carrot taking
the field by force; the grass
does not raise above it.
Here is no question of whiteness,
white as can be, with a purple mole
at the center of each flower.
Each flower is a hand’s span
of her whiteness. Wherever
his hand has lain there is
a tiny purple blemish. Each part
is a blossom under his touch
to which the fibres of her being
stem one by one, each to its end,
until the whole field is a
white desire, empty, a single stem,
a cluster, flower by flower,
a pious wish to whiteness gone over—
or nothing.

Poem 16 - Abid ibn al-Abras

(1) Whose are the abodes in the gravelly plain of Bauhan? worn are they - the destroying hand of time has changed them.
(2) I stayed therein my camel that I might ask of the traces, and as I turned away, mine eyes gushed forth with tears -
(3) A copious stream, as though on a sudden burst from my lids a shower of rain, such as falls unawares from a winter cloud.
(4) I thought how had dwelt there my kin, the best of all men not kingly to the famine-stricken, the wretched, and the captive in sorest need,
(5) And goodly gamers over the slaughtered camel, what time the wintry wind was blowing, and the strangers were gathered in.
(6) But when spear-play was the business that they had in hand, then dyed they deep in blood the upper third of their shafts;
(7) And when it was time for the smiting of swords, behold them then like lions that bend above their whelps and repel the foe;
(8) And when men shouted - - "Down to the foot-fight!" then did they do on the mail-coats ample, that fall in folds as far as the knees.
(9) Now I remain - - they are gone: and I too must pass away: change upon change - - that is life, and colour to colour succeeds!
(10) God knows how they came to their end - - I know not: all that is left for me is remembrance of things lost when and where, He knows!

Poem 11 - Abid ibn al-Abras

(1) Still to see are the traces at ad-Dafm, and in the sand -slope of Dharwah, the sides of Uthal ;
(2) Al-Maraurat and as-Salnfah ' are empty, every valley and meadow, once full of people:
(3) The abode of a tribe whom past time has smitten - their dwellings show now like patterns on sword-sheaths
(4) Desolate all, save for ashes extinguish!, and leavings of rubbish and ridges of shelters,
(5) Shreds of tethering-ropes, and a trench round the tent-place, and lines plotted out, changed by long years lapse.
(6) Instead of their folk now ostriches dwell there, red-shanked, driving on the troops of their younglings,
(7) And gazelles, that stand like ewers of silver, bending downwards to tend their fawns by their side.
(8) This my wife, in her wrath she seeks to be rid of me: is it that she desires divorce, or is feigning?
(9) If thy mind be on feigning coyness, why didst thou jest not thus in time past, the nights long vanisht?
(10) Fair wast thou as an oryx then, I thy bondsman, drunk with love, trailing skirts, I sought thy bower.
(11) So now leave off thy frowning, live with me peaceably - hope remains for us yet, yet may we be happy.
(12) But if severance be thy desire, then what more needs it than to turn elsewhere the breasts of thy camels?
(13) She will have it that I am old and decrepid, reft of wealth, and my cousins too stingy to help me,
(14) Youth's lightness all soured, my hair gone hoary, not a fit mate for her, the young and mirthful.
(15) If she finds me now pale, youth's colour vanisht, greyness spread over brow and cheek and temple,
(16) Time was when I entered a tent to find there one slender of waist, soft of skin, a gazelle.
(17) Round her neck went my arms, and toward me she bent her, as the sandhill slopes down to the sands below it.
(18) Then said she - - "My soul be ransom for thy soul! all my wealth be a gift from me to thy people!
(19) Leave the censurers then, and get thee some wisdom: let not them weigh against me in thy affection,
(20) Or against all our life together, nor follow silly preachings intended to cause thee terror.
(21) Some there be of them niggards, and some mere paupers, others misers intent to grasp thy substance.
(22) Leave the herd then to fall to the share of Zaid's people, in Qutaibat be they or in Aural;
(23) They were not won in foray, nor did our war-steeds wear the points of their shoes in driving them homewards.
(24) how goodly is youth, the day of the black locks, when the camels step briskly under the harness!
(25) When the long-necked steeds, spare like arrows of shauhat, bear the warriprs, heavy with arms and armour!
(26) Oft of old did I fright herds of deer with a prancer like a young buck in swiftness, full of spirit,
(27) Not hump-nosed, nor wont to knock hocks together - no, his hoofs hammer mightily, quick are his changes;
(28) Foremost he of a thousand, bearing as burthen knight in armour and helm, comes home like a picture;
(29) Swift as straight-feathered shaft of shauhat his onset, shot with skill by an archer cunning in bow-craft,
(30) Cutting down deer and ostrich, reaving the camels of a herdsman who dwells far away from his people.
(31) Yea and time was I led the host on a war-mare, short of hair, good in hand, to wheel or to race:
(32) Me she shielded with throat, and I with my spear-play shielded her from the lances that men couched at us.
(33) Oft of old did I traverse deserts and sand-dunes, borne aloft on a camel noble and fleet,
(35) Great of frame, strong and swift, like a wild bull roaming, whom a night full of rain has pent in a valley:
(34) All her flesh I wore down with journeyings ceaseless: at the end of our travel she was lean as the new moon.
(36) Such was life when I loved it: all now is vanisht - all our lives thus sink into ashes and emptiness!

Ode I - Amir Khusrow

Amir Khusrau-e-Dehlavi, Odes (qasidas)

1. The clouds are pouring,  and I am being separated from my sweet-heart. How  can I server my heart from my beloved on such a day?
2. The clouds are pouring, and myself and my beloved are standing to bid farewell. I am weeping on one side, the clouds on another, and the mistress on a third.
3. The verdure is peeping up, the air  is delicious, the garden is fresh and green, and the nightingale (I.e. myself) with a blackened face (i.e. disgraced) becomes disunited from the rose-garden.
4. Oh thou, under every fold, of whose locks, there are ties (i.e. fetters) for me, why do you cut me up entirely joint from joint.
5. Oh thou, the pupil of my eye (i.e. human image in the eye), my eyes have become blood-pouring on thy account. Act with humanity, and don’t separate thyself from my blood-pouring eyes.
6. I do not wish the boon of eye-sight to remain any longer when once the eye is deprived of that dainty sight.
7. Thy arrows have filled my eyes with a hundred holes (i.e. wounds); take up quickly a little dust from thy path; (the rest of this line is mutilated and doubtful).
8. Here, I pay up my life (for it) do not leave me. If you don’t believe me, take it if you like, even in advance, and keep it apart (in your custody).
9. When once you separate yourself from Khusrau, your beauty would not long remain. The rose does not survive very long it is separated from the thorn.

Never Give All The Heart - William Butler Yeats

Never give all the heart, for love
Will hardly seem worth thinking of
To passionate women if it seem
Certain, and they never dream
That it fades out from kiss to kiss;
For everything that’s lovely is
But a brief, dreamy, kind delight.
O never give the heart outright,
For they, for all smooth lips can say,
Have given their hearts up to the play.
And who could play it well enough
If deaf and dumb and blind with love?
He that made this knows all the cost,
For he gave all his heart and lost.

Minnehaha - Coates Kinney

May - Christina Rossetti

I CANNOT tell you how it was;
But this I know: it came to pass
Upon a bright and breezy day
When May was young; ah, pleasant May!
As yet the poppies were not born
Between the blades of tender corn;
The last eggs had not hatched as yet,
Nor any bird forgone its mate.

I cannot tell you what it was;
But this I know: it did but pass.
It passed away with sunny May,
With all sweet things it passed away,
And left me old, and cold, and grey.

Marriage - Mary Weston Fordham

The die is cast, come weal, come woe,
Two lives are joined together,
For better or for worse, the link
Which naught but death can sever.
The die is cast, come grief, come joy,
Come richer, or come poorer,
If love but binds the mystic tie,
Blest is the bridal hour.

The Maldive Shark - Herman Melville

About the Shark, phlegmatical one,
Pale sot of the Maldive sea,
The sleek little pilot-fish, azure and slim,
How alert in attendance be.
From his saw-pit of mouth, from his charnel of maw
They have nothing of harm to dread,
But liquidly glide on his ghastly flank
Or before his Gorgonian head;
Or lurk in the port of serrated teeth
In white triple tiers of glittering gates,
And there find a haven when peril’s abroad,
An asylum in jaws of the Fates!
They are friends; and friendly they guide him to prey,
Yet never partake of the treat—
Eyes and brains to the dotard lethargic and dull,
Pale ravener of horrible meat.

Leave-Taking - Louise Bogan

I do not know where either of us can turn
Just at first, waking from the sleep of each other.
I do not know how we can bear
The river struck by the gold plummet of the moon,
Or many trees shaken together in the darkness.
We shall wish not to be alone
And that love were not dispersed and set free—
Though you defeat me,
And I be heavy upon you.

But like earth heaped over the heart
Is love grown perfect.
Like a shell over the beat of life
Is love perfect to the last.
So let it be the same
Whether we turn to the dark or to the kiss of another;
Let us know this for leavetaking,
That I may not be heavy upon you,
That you may blind me no more.

June - Mary Weston Fordham

I am the month when roses
Bloom brightest o'er the glade,
I am the month when marriages
Most happily are made.

Mine is the time of foliage,
When hills and valleys teem
With buds and vines sweet scented,
All clothed in glowing green.

My nights are bright and starry,
My days are long and clear
And truly I'm the fairest,
Of all months in the year.

With night dews gently falling,
With bees upon the wing,
And tiny rills soft rippling
Amid the valleys sing.

The farmer with his ploughshare,
Swift turning up the sod,
His brawny arms at labor,
His soul with Nature's God.

The Lark with sweetest carol,
Doth greet the rising sun,
The Mock-bird at the even,
Loud whistles day is done.

O! I'm the month of beauty,
The summer's crown I claim,
Now whisper to me softly,
And tell me what's my name.

I Remember, I Remember - Thomas Hood

I remember, I remember,
The house where I was born,
The little window where the sun
Came peeping in at morn;
He never came a wink too soon,
Nor brought too long a day,
But now, I often wish the night
Had borne my breath away!

I remember, I remember,
The roses, red and white,
The vi'lets, and the lily-cups,
Those flowers made of light!
The lilacs where the robin built,
And where my brother set
The laburnum on his birthday,—
The tree is living yet!

I remember, I remember,
Where I was used to swing,
And thought the air must rush as fresh
To swallows on the wing;
My spirit flew in feathers then,
That is so heavy now,
And summer pools could hardly cool
The fever on my brow!

I remember, I remember,
The fir trees dark and high;
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky:
It was a childish ignorance,
But now 'tis little joy
To know I'm farther off from heav'n
Than when I was a boy.

If I Should Die - Emily Dickinson

If I should die,
And you should live,
And time should gurgle on,
And morn should beam,
And noon should burn,
As it has usual done;
If birds should build as early,
And bees as bustling go,—
One might depart at option
From enterprise below!
’T is sweet to know that stocks will stand
When we with daisies lie,
That commerce will continue,
And trades as briskly fly.
It makes the parting tranquil
And keeps the soul serene,
That gentlemen so sprightly
Conduct the pleasing scene!

Fog - Carl Sandburg

The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.

Figure - Maxwell Bodenheim

Through the turbulent servility
Of a churlish city street
He strides opaquely; nothing in his walk
Resembles an advancing gleam.
His legs are muffled iron
Stubbornly following even thoughts,
His gaily pugnacious head
Seems worried because no dread
Remains for it to slay.
His eyes hold an austerity
That recalls itself while leaping,
And often melts into amusement.
The bent poise of his body
Tells of walls that threw him back,
Only to crumble underneath
The stunned friendliness of his face.
Through the angularly churlish street
He walks, and stoops beneath the captured weight
Of eyes that do not see him.

The Dragon-Fly - Edna St. Vincent Millay

I wound myself in a white cocoon of singing,
All day long in the brook's uneven bed,
Measuring out my soul in a mucous thread;
Dimly now to the brook's green bottom clinging,
Men behold me, a worm spun-out and dead,
Walled in an iron house of silky singing.
Nevertheless at length, O reedy shallows,
Not as a plodding nose to the slimy stem,
But as a brazen wing with a spangled hem,
Over the jewel-weed and the pink marshmallows,
Free of these and making a song of them,
I shall arise, and a song of the reedy shallows!

The Dove's Loneliness - George Darley

Break not my loneliness, O Wanderer!
There's nothing sweet but Melancholy here.
'Mid these dim walks and grassy wynds are seen
No gaudy flowers, undarkening the green;
No wanton bird chirrups from tree to tree,
Not a disturber of the woods but me!
Scarce in a summer doth a wild bee come
To wake my sylvan echo with his hum,
But for my weeping lullaby I have
The everlasting cadence of the wave
That falls in little breakers on the shore,
And rather seems to strive to roar, than roar.
Light Zephyr, too, spreads out his silver wings
On each green leaf and in a whisper sings
His love to every blossom in her ear,
Too low, too soft, too sweet for me to hear!
The soul of Peace breathes a wide calm around,
And hallows for her shrine this sacred spot of ground.
Her bird am I and rule the shade for her,
A timid guard and trembling minister!
My cradling palace hung amid the leaves
Of a wide-swaying beech; a woodbine weaves,
Fine spinster of the groves, my canopy
Of purpling trellis and embroidery;
My pendant chair, lined with the velvet green
That nature clothes her russet children in,
Moss of the silkiest thread. This is my throne
Here do I sit, queen of the woods, alone!
And as the winds come swooning through the trees,
I join my murmurs to their melodies —
Murmurs of joy, for I am pleased to find
No visitors more constant than the wind.
My heart beats high at every step you come
Nearer the bosom of my woodland home,
And blame me not, if when you turn away
I wish that to some other scenes you'd stray,
Some brighter, lovelier scenes; these are too sad,
Too still, and deepen into deeper shade.
See! the gay hillocks on the neighbouring shore
Nodding their tufted crowns invite thee o'er;
The daisy winks and the pale cowslip throws
Her jealous looks ascant, — red burns the rose, —
Spare hawthorn all her glittering wealth displays,
Stars, blossoms, buds, and hangs them in the blaze
To lure thine eye, the slope as fresh and sweet
Spreads her lush carpet to entice thy feet
Here are but weeds and a few sorry gems
Scattered upon the straggling woodbine stems,
Hoar trees and withered fern. Ah! stranger, go!
I would not stay to make thee tremble so.
Were I a man and thou a little dove,
I would at thy least prayer at once remove.
Then, stranger, turn, and should'st thou hear me coo
From this deep-bosomed wood a hoarse adieu —
The secret satisfaction of my mind
That thou art gone and I am left behind —
Smile thou and say farewell! The bird of Peace,
Hope, Innocence and Love and Loveliness,
Thy sweet Egeria's bird of birds doth pray
By the name best-belov'd thou'lt wend thy way
In pity of her pain. Though I know well
Thou would'st not harm me, I must tremble still;
My heart's the home of fear; ah! turn thee then,
And leave me to my loneliness again!

The Dark - Ellen M. H. Gates

I am the Dark, the ancient one,
Before the days and years begun,
I hovered formless, silent, cold,
And Filled the void. No page unrolled,
Makes mention of my timeless reign;
No rock on Mountain-top or plain,
By scar or symbol, now can tell,
The secrets that I know so well.

I am the Dark, the first to be;
My own beginning baffles me.
I seemed a thing apart, forgot,
Which was – because the Light was not.
I dwelt with Chaos; place I kept
As atom unto atom crept,
Till Order stood, with sinews set,
And law with law like brothers met.

I am the Dark, for still I stay,
With half my kingdom wrenched away.
There came an hour when all the black,
A filmy screen, was folded back.
Above me, through me, everywhere,
Where scarlet streaks and golden glare;
And mighty winds began to blow
The trailing mist-wreaths to and fro.

I am the Dark. The eye that sees
The midnight moons and Pleiades,
Must wait for me. I claim the sky.
To show the splendors swinging high
In space so deep, and wide, and black,
That thought itself comes trembling back.
The Sun may show the sea and sod,
But I – the far-off fields of God!

I am the Dark. My paths I keep;
No hour too soon the light may creep
Above the hills, no moment late
The Sun may reach the western gate.
The shadows are my own; their wings
They spread above all breathing things,
Till joy and pain, and more and less,
Are one in sleep’s unconsciousness.

I am the Dark. The under-world,
With soundless rivers onward whirled,
Is mine alone; and mine the lakes,
O’er which the morning never breaks.
I dwell in caverns, vast, unknown,
Whose walls are wrought from primal stone;
There Silence, Death, and I, can wait, -
Creation’s grim triumvirate!

I am the Dark, and forth and back,
As God’s own servant, robed in black,
I go and come. His dead I keep
Within my chambers while they sleep.
Who knows my doom? Perhaps, at last,
I may be ended, outward cast
From all that is, my deepest night
Invaded by resistless light!

Charity's Eye - William Rounseville Alger

  One evening Jesus lingered in the marketplace,
  Teaching the people parables of truth and grace,
  When in the square remote a crowd was seen to rise,
  And stop with loathing gestures and abhorring cries.
  The Master and his meek disciples went to see
  What cause for this commotion and disgust could be,
  And found a poor dead dog beside the gutter laid--
  Revolting sight! at which each face its hate betrayed.

  One held his nose, one shut his eyes, one turned away,
  And all among themselves began to say:
  "Detested creature! he pollutes the earth and air!"
  "His eyes are blear!" "His ears are foul!" "His ribs are bare!"
  "In his torn hide there's not a decent shoestring left,
  No doubt the execrable cur was hung for theft."
  Then Jesus spake, and dropped on him the saving wreath:
  "Even pearls are dark before the whiteness of his teeth."

  The pelting crowd grew silent and ashamed, like one
  Rebuked by sight of wisdom higher than his own;
  And one exclaimed: "No creature so accursed can be
  But some good thing in him a loving eye will see."

Break, Break, Break - Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Break, break, break,
         On thy cold gray stones, O Sea!
And I would that my tongue could utter
         The thoughts that arise in me.

O, well for the fisherman's boy,
         That he shouts with his sister at play!
O, well for the sailor lad,
         That he sings in his boat on the bay!

And the stately ships go on
         To their haven under the hill;
But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand,
         And the sound of a voice that is still!

Break, break, break
         At the foot of thy crags, O Sea!
But the tender grace of a day that is dead
         Will never come back to me.

A boat beneath a sunny sky - Lewis Carroll

A boat beneath a sunny sky,
Lingering onward dreamily
In an evening of July —

Children three that nestle near,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Pleased a simple tale to hear —

Long has paled that sunny sky:
Echoes fade and memories die:
Autumn frosts have slain July.

Still she haunts me, phantomwise,
Alice moving under skies
Never seen by waking eyes.

Children yet, the tale to hear,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Lovingly shall nestle near.

In a Wonderland they lie,
Dreaming as the days go by,
Dreaming as the summers die:

Ever drifting down the stream —
Lingering in the golden gleam —
Life, what is it but a dream?

The Beginning Of The New Century - Friedrich Schiller

Where will a place of refuge, noble friend,
For peace and freedom ever open lie!
The century in tempests had its end,
The new one now begins with murder's cry.

Each land-connecting bond is torn away,
Each ancient custom hastens to decline;
Not e'en the ocean can war's tumult stay.
Not e'en the Nile-god, not the hoary Rhine.

Two mighty nations strive, with hostile power,
For undivided mastery of the world;
And, by them, each land's freedom to devour,
The trident brandished is the lightning hurled.

Each country must to them its gold afford,
And, Brennus-like, upon the fatal day,
The Frank now throws his heavy iron sword,
The even scales of justice to o'erweigh.

His merchant-fleets the Briton greedily
Extends, like polyp-limbs, on every side;
And the domain of Amphitrite free
As if his home it were, would fain bestride.

E'en to the south pole's dim, remotest star,
His restless course moves onward, unrestrained;
Each isle he tracks, each coast, however far,
But paradise alone he ne'er has gained!

Although thine eye may every map explore,
Vainly thou'lt seek to find that blissful place,
Where freedom's garden smiles for evermore,
And where in youth still blooms the human race.

Before thy gaze the world extended lies,
The very shipping it can scarce embrace;
And yet upon her back, of boundless size,
E'en for ten happy men there is not space!

Into thy bosom's holy, silent cells,
Thou needs must fly from life's tumultuous throng!
Freedom but in the realm of vision dwells,
And beauty bears no blossoms but in song.

Ballad - Thomas Hood

IT was not in the winter
Our loving lot was cast;
It was the time of roses,
We pluck’d them as we pass’d.

That churlish season never frown’d      
On early lovers yet:
Oh, no—the world was newly crown’d
With flowers when first we met!

’T was twilight, and I bade you go,
But still you held me fast;      
It was the time of roses,
We pluck’d them as we pass’d.

What else could peer thy glowing cheek,
That tears began to stud?
And when I ask’d the like of Love,      
You snatch’d a damask bud;

And op’d it to the dainty core,
Still glowing to the last.
It was the time of roses,
We pluck’d them as we pass’d.

The Arrow and the Song - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I shot an arrow into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight
Could not follow it in its flight.

I breathed a song into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For who has sight so keen and strong,
That it can follow the flight of song?

Long, long afterward, in an oak
I found the arrow, still unbroke;
And the song, from beginning to end,
I found again in the heart of a friend.

Alexander - Walter De la Mare

It was the Great Alexander,
Capped with a golden helm,
Sate in the ages, in his floating ship,
In a dead calm.

Voices of sea-maids singing
Wandered across the deep:
The sailors labouring on their oars
Rowed as in sleep.

All the high pomp of Asia,
Charmed by that siren lay,
Out of their weary and dreaming minds
Faded away.

Like a bold boy sate their Captain,
His glamour withered and gone,
In the souls of his brooding mariners,
While the song pined on.

Time like a falling dew,
Life like the scene of a dream
Laid between slumber and slumber
Only did seem. . . .

O Alexander, then,
In all us mortals too,
Wax not so overbold
On the wave dark-blue!

Come the calm starry night,
Who then will hear
Aught save the singing
Of the sea-maids clear?

Short Poetry Collection 167

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