Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet V - Poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
The physical world itself is a fair thing
For who has eyes to see or ears to hear.
To--day I fled on my new freedom's wind,
With the first swallows of the parting year,
Southwards from England. At the Folkestone pier
I left the burden of my sins behind,
Noting how gay the noon was, and how clear
The tide's fresh laughter rising to no wind.
A hundred souls of men there with my own
Smiled in that sunshine. 'Tis a little measure
Makes glad the heart at sea, and not alone
Do wise men kindle to its pulse of pleasure
Here all alike, peers, pedlars, squires, and dames
Forswore their griefs fog--born of Father Thames.
Comments about A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet V by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You