Songs of the Affections, with Other Poems/The Diver

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For other versions of this work, see The Diver.


THE DIVER.




They learn in suffering what they teach in song.
Shelley.




Thou hast been where the rocks of coral grow,
    Thou hast fought with eddying waves;—
Thy cheek is pale, and thy heart beats low,
    Thou searcher of ocean's caves!

Thou hast look'd on the gleaming wealth of old,
    And wrecks where the brave have striven;
The deep is a strong and a fearful hold,
    But thou its bar hast riven!


A wild and weary life is thine;
    A wasting task and lone,
Though treasure-grots for thee may shine,
    To all besides unknown!

A weary life! but a swift decay
    Soon, soon shall set thee free;
Thou'rt passing fast from thy toils away,
    Thou wrestler with the sea!

In thy dim eye, on thy hollow cheek,
    Well are the death-signs read—
Go! for the pearl in its cavern seek,
    Ere hope and power be fled!

And bright in beauty's coronal
    That glistening gem shall be;
A star to all in the festive hall—
    But who will think on thee?


None!—as it gleams from the queen-like head,
    Not one 'midst throngs will say,
"A life hath been like a rain-drop shed,
    For that pale quivering ray."

Woe for the wealth thus dearly bought!
    —And are not those like thee,
Who win for earth the gems of thought?
    O wrestler with the sea!

Down to the gulfs of the soul they go,
    Where the passion-fountains burn,
Gathering the jewels far below
    From many a buried urn:

Wringing from lava-veins the fire,
    That o'er bright words is pour'd;
Learning deep sounds, to make the lyre
    A spirit in each chord.


But, oh! the price of bitter tears,
    Paid for the lonely power
That throws at last, o'er desert years,
    A darkly-glorious dower!

Like flower-seeds, by the wild wind spread,
    So radiant thoughts are strew'd;
—The soul whence those high gifts are shed,
    May faint in solitude!

And who will think, when the strain is sung,
    Till a thousand hearts are stirr'd,
What life-drops, from the minstrel wrung,
    Have gush'd with every word?

None, none!—his treasures live like thine,
    He strives and dies like thee;
—Thou, that hast been to the pearl's dark shrine,
    O wrestler with the sea!