A DEAD SEA-GULL.
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Nothing here suffered, nothing missed,
Will ever stir from its repose
The death-smile on her lips unkissed,
Who all things loves and all things knows.
Will ever stir from its repose
The death-smile on her lips unkissed,
Who all things loves and all things knows.
And I, who, ignorant and weak,
Of love so helpless—quick to pain,
With restless longing ever seek
The unattainable in vain,
Of love so helpless—quick to pain,
With restless longing ever seek
The unattainable in vain,
Find it strange comfort thus to sit
While the loud world unheeded rolls,
And clasp, ere yet the fancy flit,
A friend's hand from the land of souls.
While the loud world unheeded rolls,
And clasp, ere yet the fancy flit,
A friend's hand from the land of souls.
A DEAD SEA-GULL.
Near Liverpool
ACK-LUSTRE eye, and idle wing,And smirchèd breast that skims no more,
White as the foam itself, the wave—
Hast thou not even a grave
Upon the dreary shore,
Forlorn, forsaken thing?
