Strange the world about me lies,
Never yet familiar grown—
Still disturbs me with surprise,
Haunts me like a face half known.
In this house with starry dome,
Floored with gemlike plains and seas,
Shall I never feel at home,
Never wholly be at ease?
On from room to room I stray,
Yet my Host can ne’er espy,
And I know not to this day
Whether guest or captive I.
So, between the starry dome
And the floor of plains and seas,
I have never felt at home,
Never wholly been at ease.
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 |
Estrangement |
Changed Voices |
England and Her Colonies |
Ireland |
Related books |
Sir William Watson at amazon.co.uk |