Here in the noisy night
Is his delight.
Where maxims pour
Their thudding lead
I see wild waves that break, and breaking-run;
And the wild sea-birds wheeling round the ships;
But at the dawn, the coming of the sun,
She came from some still mossiness
Of quiet ways; and stood with modest hands;
A warmth of body in a shy distress;
A white shell on the sands.
Within a corner of this windowed room
He sits, and seldom speaks, and seldom
Forever left within eternal gloom,
Head-bowed I stood before the Gates of
And pleaded starvingly;
The Great Eye would not see;
What task is this that so unnerves me now?
When pity should be dead, and has been dead.
Unloose that sheet from round the pierced brow;
Strong from the hills it comes, and flowing
Swift from the waters of the rising seas;
Swift on the chilling heart that waits and quivers
Thou gazing face above the shifting sands!
Oh, turn thy tearless eyes and answer me!
Will honour come to thee and to thy land.
Grey nights in the wind,
And the grey-faced dead.
Grey hairs in my head,
And grey eyes in my mind.