Page:Thirty poems (IA thirtypoems00bryarich).pdf/86

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POEMS.
Brief respite! they shall rush from that recess With noise and tumult soon,And fling themselves, with unavailing stress, Up toward the placid moon.
Oh, restless Sea, that, in thy prison here, Dost struggle and complain;Through the slow centuries yearning to be near To that fair orb in vain;
The glorious source of light and heat must warm Thy billows from on high,And change them to the cloudy trains that form The curtains of the sky.
Then only may they leave the waste of brine In which they welter here,And rise above the hills of earth, and shine In a serener sphere.
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