Sand-pipings
Sand-pipings
GULLS
Strong wings in the stormy weather—Gray stitches that holdThe raveling fabrics of sea and skyForever together!
Strong wings in the stormy weather—Gray stitches that holdThe raveling fabrics of sea and skyForever together!
Strong wings in the stormy weather—Gray stitches that holdThe raveling fabrics of sea and skyForever together!
Strong wings in the stormy weather—
Gray stitches that hold
The raveling fabrics of sea and sky
Forever together!
STORM’S END
As if engraved upon the dawn,The sleek gulls standAlong the rim of an exhausted seaThat rumbles up the sand.Amazing birds, untired and trim of wing,Whose round unflinching eyesMeet like a challenge the leaden-lidded sunAbout to rise.
As if engraved upon the dawn,The sleek gulls standAlong the rim of an exhausted seaThat rumbles up the sand.Amazing birds, untired and trim of wing,Whose round unflinching eyesMeet like a challenge the leaden-lidded sunAbout to rise.
As if engraved upon the dawn,The sleek gulls standAlong the rim of an exhausted seaThat rumbles up the sand.
As if engraved upon the dawn,
The sleek gulls stand
Along the rim of an exhausted sea
That rumbles up the sand.
Amazing birds, untired and trim of wing,Whose round unflinching eyesMeet like a challenge the leaden-lidded sunAbout to rise.
Amazing birds, untired and trim of wing,
Whose round unflinching eyes
Meet like a challenge the leaden-lidded sun
About to rise.
FOR A SPRING DAY
Here is no bud, no blade,No young green thing;This stark earth knows a meager spring.Gulls are the only birds,And thin their cries,Bleak winter in their frosty eyes.Somewhere, are fields and boughs,A hill, a brook;I would not lift my head to lookFrom this wind-shapen dune,This stern still place,This sea that stares me in the face,This unimpeded sun!—And for my hand,The fine unfecund yellow sand!
Here is no bud, no blade,No young green thing;This stark earth knows a meager spring.Gulls are the only birds,And thin their cries,Bleak winter in their frosty eyes.Somewhere, are fields and boughs,A hill, a brook;I would not lift my head to lookFrom this wind-shapen dune,This stern still place,This sea that stares me in the face,This unimpeded sun!—And for my hand,The fine unfecund yellow sand!
Here is no bud, no blade,No young green thing;This stark earth knows a meager spring.
Here is no bud, no blade,
No young green thing;
This stark earth knows a meager spring.
Gulls are the only birds,And thin their cries,Bleak winter in their frosty eyes.
Gulls are the only birds,
And thin their cries,
Bleak winter in their frosty eyes.
Somewhere, are fields and boughs,A hill, a brook;I would not lift my head to look
Somewhere, are fields and boughs,
A hill, a brook;
I would not lift my head to look
From this wind-shapen dune,This stern still place,This sea that stares me in the face,
From this wind-shapen dune,
This stern still place,
This sea that stares me in the face,
This unimpeded sun!—And for my hand,The fine unfecund yellow sand!
This unimpeded sun!—
And for my hand,
The fine unfecund yellow sand!