Sands at Seventy
Sands at Seventy[First Annex]
MY city's fit and noble name resumed,
Choice aboriginal name, with marvellous beauty, meaning,
founded island shores where ever
gayly dash the coming, going, hurrying sea waves.
SEA-BEAUTY! stretch'd and basking!
One side thy inland ocean laving, broad, with copious
And one the Atlantic's wind caressing, fierce or gentle
mighty hulls dark-gliding in the
Isle of sweet brooks of drinking-water healthy
air and soil!
Isle of the salty shore and breeze
FROM MONTAUK POINT
I STAND as on some mighty eagle's beak,
Eastward the sea absorbing, viewing, (nothing but sea and
The tossing waves, the foam, the ships in the distance.
The wild unrest, the snowy, curling caps
inbound urge and urge of waves,
Seeking the shores forever.
TO THOSE WHO'VE FAIL'D
To those who've fail'd, in aspiration vast,
To unnam'd soldiers fallen in front on the lead,
To calm, devoted
engineers to over-ardent
travelers to pilots on their ships,
To many a lofty song and picture without
I'd rear a laurel-cover'd monument,
High, high above the rest To all cut off
Possess'd by some strange spirit of fire,
Quench'd by an early death.
A CAROL CLOSING SIXTY-NINE
A CAROL closing sixty-nine a résumé
My lines in joy and hope continuing on the same,
ye, O God, Life, Nature, Freedom, Poetry;
Of you, my Land your rivers, prairies,
States you, mottled
Flag I love,
Your aggregate retain'd entire Of north,
south, east and west, your items all;
Of me myself
the jocund heart yet beating
in my breast,
The body wreck'd, old, poor and paralyzed
inertia falling pall-like round me,
The burning fires down in my sluggish blood not yet extinct,
faith the groups of loving friends.
THE BRAVEST SOLDIERS
BRAVE, brave were the soldiers (high named to-day) who
lived through the fight;
But the bravest press'd
to the front and fell, unnamed,
A FONT OF TYPE
THIS latent mine these unlaunch'd voices
Wrath, argument, or praise, or comic
leer, or prayer devout,
(Not nonpareil, brevier, bourgeois, long primer merely,)
These ocean waves arousable
to fury and to death,
Or sooth'd to ease and sheeny sun and sleep,
Within the pallid slivers slumbering.
AS I SIT WRITING HERE
As I sit writing here, sick and grown old,
Not my least burden is that dulness of the years, querilities,
glooms, aches, lethargy, constipation, whimpering
May filter in my daily songs.