04.10.2008, 13:01
The Old Wreck at Seascale
Weighed down, in utter helplessness it lies,
Whose buoyant youth was lighter than the wave;
Each storm, the robber-winds unseal its grave
And of its bones would fain make merchandise.
Led by the moon, sea-waters sympathise;
E'en hands that snatch, some sense of pity have;
Deeper in sand each day - the boon they crave -
Its sorrows sink from out the seaman's eyes.
So may it be when storms my life shall strand
On treachery's shoal or disappointment's reef:
May the same tide that drove my hull to land
Break up my being far beyond relief;
And waves, that wrecked, reach out a pitying hand
To gulf my sorrow, and to hide my grief.
Weighed down, in utter helplessness it lies,
Whose buoyant youth was lighter than the wave;
Each storm, the robber-winds unseal its grave
And of its bones would fain make merchandise.
Led by the moon, sea-waters sympathise;
E'en hands that snatch, some sense of pity have;
Deeper in sand each day - the boon they crave -
Its sorrows sink from out the seaman's eyes.
So may it be when storms my life shall strand
On treachery's shoal or disappointment's reef:
May the same tide that drove my hull to land
Break up my being far beyond relief;
And waves, that wrecked, reach out a pitying hand
To gulf my sorrow, and to hide my grief.