After long labouring in the windy ways,
On smooth and shining tides
Swiftly the great ship glides,
Her storms forgot, her weary watches past;
Northward she glides, and through the enchanted haze
Faint on the verge her far hope dawns at last.
The phantom sky-line of a shadowy down,
Whose pale white cliffs below
Through sunny mist aglow,
Like noon-day ghosts of summer moonshine gleam---
Soft as old sorrow, bright as old renown,
There lies the home, of all our mortal dream.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
My favorite phrase in this poem is Soft as old sorrow. The poem becomes more and more brilliant if you read it many times since it is easy to just race through and not savor it, tossing it aside with a casual yeah, yeah. On familiarity, read over and over, one can feel the momentum of the words themselves glide smoothly under full sail.