Home-woe
The wreckage of some name-forgotten barque,
Half-buried by the dolorous shore;
Whereto the living waters never more
Their urgent billows pour;
But the salt spray can reach and cark —
So lies my spirit, lonely and forlorn,
On Being’s strange and perilous strand.
And rusted sword and fleshless hand
Point from the smothering sand;
And anchor chainless and out-worn.
But o’er what Deep, unconquered and uncharted,
And steering by what vanished star;
And where my dim-imagined consorts are,
Or hidden harbour far,
From whence my sails, unblessed, departed,
Can memory, nor still intuition teach.
And so I watch with alien eyes
This World’s remote and unremembered skies;
While around me weary rise
The babblings of a foreign speech.