TO ULYSSES
113
vi.
My yucca, which no winter quells,
Altho’ the months have scarce begun,
Has push’d toward our faintest sun
A spike of half-accomplish’d bells—
My yucca, which no winter quells,
Altho’ the months have scarce begun,
Has push’d toward our faintest sun
A spike of half-accomplish’d bells—
vii.
Or watch the waving pine which here
The warrior of Caprera set,1
A name that earth will not forget
Till earth has roll’d her latest year—
Or watch the waving pine which here
The warrior of Caprera set,1
A name that earth will not forget
Till earth has roll’d her latest year—
viii.
I, once half-crazed for larger light
On broader zones beyond the foam,
But chaining fancy now at home
Among the quarried downs of Wight,
I, once half-crazed for larger light
On broader zones beyond the foam,
But chaining fancy now at home
Among the quarried downs of Wight,
