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:
- Wold Friends A-Met by William Barnes
- Владимир Маяковский – Долой мешечников (РОСТА №525)
- Those Born In Obscure Times poem – Aleksandr Blok poems | Poetry Monster
- Robert Burns: Braw Lads O’ Galla Water:
- Sylvia’s Mother by Shel Silverstein
- We embraced and talked about rains by Vinko Kalinic
- Love Is A Parallax by Sylvia Plath
- Soulmating by Mike Yuan
- What Are Big Girls Made Of? by Marge Piercy
- Ione, Dead the Long Year poem – Ezra Pound poems
- Adaptation by Sriparna Bandyopadhyay
- Jerusalem Delivered – Book 06 – part 05 by Torquato Tasso
- Know, Celia, Since Thou Art So Proud by Thomas Carew
- The Golden Age poem – Alfred Austin
- Awake by Sara Herlihy
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
- Юлия Друнина – Дочери
- Юлия Друнина – Девчонка – что надо!
- Юлия Друнина – Да, сердце часто ошибалось
- Юлия Друнина – Чтоб человек от стужи не застыл
- Юлия Друнина – Целовались
- Юлия Друнина – Царевна
- Юлия Друнина – Большой ребёнок ты
- Юлия Друнина – Бинты
- Юлия Друнина – Бежала от морозов, вот беда
- Юлия Друнина – Бережем тех, кого любим
- Юлия Друнина – Баллада о десанте
- Юлия Друнина – Альпинисту
- Юлия Друнина – А всё равно
- Юлия Друнина – Зной
- Юлия Друнина – Зима, зима нагрянет скоро
- Юлия Друнина – Жизнь моя не катилась
- Юлия Друнина – Здесь продают билеты на Парнас
- Юлия Друнина – Запас прочности
- Юлия Друнина – Забытая тетрадь, Истертые листы
- Юлия Друнина – Ялта Чехова
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.