Poems (Kennedy)/High Tide
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HIGH TIDE
NO sign of rocks; the crescent beach
That showed all golden with the noon,
Has disappeared beneath the reach
Of serpent-twisting waves that hymn
A world-dirge to the moon.
That showed all golden with the noon,
Has disappeared beneath the reach
Of serpent-twisting waves that hymn
A world-dirge to the moon.
Too deep for cavernous call the reef
Is hid; above it, full and free,
But with a silence hushed and brief,
The waters flow far up the strand—
'Tis high tide on the sea.
Is hid; above it, full and free,
But with a silence hushed and brief,
The waters flow far up the strand—
'Tis high tide on the sea.
And in the lives of men there falls
Sometimes, like shadows from their lair,
A calm like this; when passion palls
And love and hate are stricken dumb—
The high tide of despair.
Sometimes, like shadows from their lair,
A calm like this; when passion palls
And love and hate are stricken dumb—
The high tide of despair.
And in the silence hushed and dread
They catch the sound of funeral clod
On passions spent and anger dead;
And putting forth a groping hand
Amid the dark, they touch at last
The patient hand of God.
They catch the sound of funeral clod
On passions spent and anger dead;
And putting forth a groping hand
Amid the dark, they touch at last
The patient hand of God.