A region desolate and wild.
Black, chafing water: and afloat,
And lonely as a truant child
In a waste wood, a single boat:
No mast, no sails are set thereon;
It moves, but never moveth on:
And welters like a human thing
Amid the wild waves weltering.
Behind, a buried vale doth sleep,
Far down the torrent cleaves its way:
In front the dumb rock rises steep,
A fretted wall of blue and grey;
Of shooting cliff and crumbled stone
With many a wild weed overgrown:
All else, black water: and afloat,
One rood from shore, that single boat.
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Comments about this poem (Hayeswater by Matthew Arnold )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
William Ernest Henley
Did you read them?
- I cant see you but I know you there, yolandey breedt
- Like an old-fashioned tradition, Kamini Arichandran
- Where are we?, Pintu Mahakul
- Gazing up the sky, Seira LNlee94
- no one has ever done good without....., RIC S. BASTASA
- the night deepens, RIC S. BASTASA
- to begin with....., RIC S. BASTASA
- who is someone in your mind?, RIC S. BASTASA
- try sipping this, RIC S. BASTASA
- the reason why i am still a part of you, RIC S. BASTASA