Last night the seawind was to me
A metaphor of liberty,
And every wave along the beach
A starlit music seemed to be.
To-day the seawind is to me
A fettered soul that would be free,
And dumbly striving after speech
The tides yearn landward painfully.
To-morrow how shall sound for me
The changing voice of wind and sea?
What tidings shall be borne of each?
What rumour of what mystery?
About the poet |
Sir William Watson |
By the same poet |
An Epitaph |
Wordsworth’s Grave |
Lacrimae Musarum |
The Ballad of Semmerwater |
Our Men |
The Prince’s Quest |
Vita Nuova |
April |
World Strangeness |
Estrangement |
England and Her Colonies |
Ireland |
Related books |
Sir William Watson at amazon.co.uk |