O homesick, brood no more!
Lovely that sky; haunted the wandering wind;
Strange the dark breakers beating on the shore
That never rest, nor any respite find,
Yet ever call to the lone ghost in thee,
“Where is thy peace, where thy tranquillity?”

Only a wasting fire
Is this remembrance, cheating day and night
With vain and unassuageable desire,
And fleeting phantom pictures of delight
And yet, O sleep—friend of my body—be
Friend to the soul also that thirsts for thee!
Rate this poem: 


No reviews yet.