Watchman, what of the night?
See you a streak of light?
Whither, O Captain of the quest,
The course we steer for Port of Rest?
How shall he answer-he
Who never put to sea?
Within his tabernacle wall
He cannot even hear us call.
Behind the jealous door
That he must pass no more,
And whence he scarcely dares to look,
He keeps his eyes upon his book.
The little candles, lit
Where the disciples sit,
Light their small refuge round about,
But show no gleam to those without-
Spirits that cannot dwell
In such an airless cell,
Sniffing the sea-winds from afar,
Glimpsing the light of moon and star.
We must fare forth, unsped,
From homely board and bed;
We must set sail for port unknown,
On an uncharted course, alone.
Push off. We have to go,
Whether we choose or no.
The Call, though faint and far away,
Has reached us, and we must obey.
O but the night is dark
Beyond that only ark!
The salt sea-winds blow keen and cold
Outside the shelter of the fold!
Boom of the deep-sea swell,
Solemn as funeral bell-
Silence transcending sound, to make
High courage falter and heart quake . . . . .
What will the voyage cost?
We are already lost
Who turn from land and love, to face
This blank immensity of space.
Push out. We have to go,
Whether we fear or no.
And why stand shivering and appalled?
We go because the Voice has called.
Noah’s inspired dove
Took wing to find her love.
The sea is His-safe as the land
Within the hollow of His hand.
Here are the breakers-pull
Before the boat is full!
‘Ware the sharp reefs that line the shore!
Row for the open evermore!
O but the night is dark!
Never the faintest spark
Where surf and shore and cities were!
And not a whisper in the air.
The open-heart of grace,
It is a lonely place!
No light on any onward track!
Too far-too late-for turning back!
Where is that little ark-
Those candles in the dark-
The Rock of Ages cleft for me-
The Cross uprising in the sea-
Whereto the drowning grope
With yearning faith and hope,
And cling as to their mother’s breast,
And find safe shelter and sweet rest?
Gone, gone-for ever gone!
And still we must press on.
Steady, true soul, too brave to fret!
Press on-we are not drowning yet.
The night is soft and still
That was so wild and chill;
The bosom of the mighty deep
Breathes like a tired child asleep.
So peaceful, so profound,
The silence spread around!
The very breakers of the shore
Moan to the listening ear no more.
Night-but the stars are out.
Darkness of dread and doubt,
The way so lonely and so rough,
Have cleared a little, but enough.
We know not where we are-
Light cannot reach so far,
But show us we have lost and gained
As the compelling Voice ordained.
Gone, gone beyond recall,
Candle and prisoning wall,
Last echo of the hue and cry,
Last glint of an accusing eye.
Too late for looking back
Over the darkening track.
How should the life-taught soul return
That cannot unlive or unlearn?
Changed, changed, for ever changed,
Since hitherward we ranged,
To vision in a space so vast,
All the perspectives of the past.
How infinitely small
The once so broad and tall-
The aims, the pursuit and the strife
Shut in the sheltered grooves of life!
Those terrifying laws,
The wrangles and the wars
Of church with church and state with state-
The things men love, the things men hate-
Money and gauds and fame,
And neighbours’ scorn and blame-
The passion of desire and haste
To gather, to possess, to waste . . . . . .
How infinitely high,
Broad as the sea and sky,
The loyalty of man to man,
Once almost missing from the plan-
The elemental law
That codes and creeds ignore,
Of duty to the trust we hold
For heirs unborn and years untold . . . . . .
Night-and the drifting soul
Still without path or goal.
Yet was the voyage worth the cost.
We are not drowned. We are not lost.
‘T’is I. Be not afraid.
Moonlight and stars may fade.
One walks the ocean and the night.
We have no further need of light.
What matters where we go?
We do not ask to know.
He called us, and we came. The quest
For us is ended, and we rest.
A few random poems:
- Optimist poem – Aleister Crowley poems | Poetry Monster
- Robert Burns: Ode, Sacred To The Memory Of Mrs. Oswald Of Auchencruive:
- Spenser’s Ireland by Marianne Moore
- I Saw a Chapel by William Blake
- I closed my eyes to creation by Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi
- Михаил Кузмин – Трое (Нас было трое)
- Sonnet Of Motherhood XXIX poem – Zora Bernice May Cross poems
- Robert Burns: Tam Samson’s Elegy: When this worthy old sportman went out, last muirfowl season, he supposed it was to be, in Ossian’s phrase, “the last of his fields,” and expressed an ardent wish to die and be buried in the muirs. On this hint the author composed his elegy and epitaph.-R.B., 1787.
- A Recantation by Rudyard Kipling
- To A Little Girl That Has Told A Lie
- Perseus by Sylvia Plath
- Sonnet 40: Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all by William Shakespeare
- The Complaint Of Prometheus
- Haiku: January by Monty Gilmer
- A Voice
External links
Bat’s Poetry Page – more poetry by Fledermaus
Talking Writing Monster’s Page –
Batty Writing – the bat’s idle chatter, thoughts, ideas and observations, all original, all fresh
Poems in English
- Владимир Высоцкий – Песенка про мангустов
- Владимир Высоцкий – Песенка о слухах
- Владимир Высоцкий – Песенка ни про что, или Что случилось в Африке
- Владимир Высоцкий – Переворот в мозгах из края в край
- Владимир Высоцкий – Перед выездом в загранку заполняешь кучу бланков
- Владимир Высоцкий – Пародия на плохой детектив
- Владимир Высоцкий – Парня спасём, парня в детдом
- Владимир Высоцкий – Памятник
- Владимир Высоцкий – Палач
- Владимир Высоцкий – Охота на кабанов
- Владимир Высоцкий – Ох, где был я вчера
- Владимир Высоцкий – Отпустите мне грехи
- Владимир Высоцкий – От скучных шабашей смертельно уставши
- Владимир Высоцкий – Оплавляются свечи на старинный паркет
- Владимир Высоцкий – Она была в Париже
- Владимир Высоцкий – Он не вернулся из боя
- Владимир Высоцкий – Оловянные солдатики
- Владимир Высоцкий – Однако, втягивать живот
- Владимир Высоцкий – Один смотрел, другой орал
- Владимир Высоцкий – Очи чёрные: Часть I
More external links (open in a new tab):
Doska or the Board – write anything
Search engines:
Yandex – the best search engine for searches in Russian (and the best overall image search engine, in any language, anywhere)
Qwant – the best search engine for searches in French, German as well as Romance and Germanic languages.
Ecosia – a search engine that supposedly… plants trees
Duckduckgo – the real alternative and a search engine that actually works. Without much censorship or partisan politics.
Yahoo– yes, it’s still around, amazingly, miraculously, incredibly, but now it seems to be powered by Bing.
Parallel Translations of Poetry
The Poetry Repository – an online library of poems, poetry, verse and poetic works
Ada Cambridge (1844 – 1926), also known as Ada Cross, was an English-born Australian author and poetess. She wrote more than 25 works of fiction, three volumes of poetry and two autobiographical works.