“Thou art lost in the notes on the lips of his choir / That chant the chant of the Whole.”

[larryhammer]

For Poetry Monday:


Deep-Sea Soundings, Sarah Williams

Mariner, what of the deep?
                                        This of the deep:
Twilight is there, and solemn, changeless calm;
Beauty is there, and tender healing balm—
Balm with no root in earth, or air, or sea,
Poised by the finger of God, it floateth free,
And, as it threads the waves, the sound doth rise,—
Hither shall come no further sacrifice;
Never again the anguished clutch at life,
Never again great Love and Death in strife;
He who hath suffered all, need fear no more,
Quiet his portion now, for evermore.

Mariner, what of the deep?
                                        This of the deep:
Solitude dwells not there, though silence reign;
Mighty the brotherhood of loss and pain;
There is communion past the need of speech,
There is a love no words of love can reach;
Heavy the waves that superincumbent press,
But as we labour here with constant stress,
Hand doth hold out to hand not help alone,
But the deep bliss of being fully known.
There are no kindred like the kin of sorrow,
There is no hope like theirs who fear no morrow.

Mariner, what of the deep?
                                        This of the deep:
Though we have travelled past the line of day,
Glory of night doth light us on our way,
Radiance that comes we know not how nor whence,
Rainbows without the rain, past duller sense,
Music of hidden reefs and waves long past,
Thunderous organ tones from far-off blast,
Harmony, victrix, throned in state sublime,
Couched on the wrecks be-gemmed with pearls of time;
Never a wreck but brings some beauty here;
Down where the waves are stilled the sea shines clear;
Deeper than life the plan of life doth lie,
He who knows all, fears naught. Great Death shall die.


---L.

Subject quote from Ode in May, William Watson.

Comments

[cmcmck]

Influenced, I suspect, by 'Watchman, what of the night?'

Say, watchman, what of the night?
Do the dews of the morning fall?
Have the orient skies a border of light
Like the fringe of a funeral pall?

'The night is fast waning on high,
And soon shall the darkness flee,
And the morn shall spread o'er the blushing sky,
And bright shall its glories be.'

But, watchman, what of the night,
When sorrow and pain are mine,
And the pleasures of life, so sweet and bright,
No longer around me shine?

'That night of sorrow thy soul
May surely prepare to meet,
But away shall the clouds of thy heaviness roll,
And the morning of joy be sweet.'

But, watchman, what of that night,
When the arrow of death is sped,
And the grave, which no glimmering star can light,
Shall be my sleeping bed?

'That night is near,- and the cheerless tomb
Shall keep thy body in store,
Till the morn of eternity rise on the gloom,
And night shall be no more!'



Surprisingly, it's anonymous

[larryhammer]

It’s possible.

[sovay]

Deeper than life the plan of life doth lie,
He who knows all, fears naught. Great Death shall die.

Lovecraft must have known this poem, but that last verse is like the anti-Shadow Over Innsmouth. Or it's Y'ha-nthlei as the Deep Ones know it, marvel-shadowed, amid wonder and glory forever.

[larryhammer]

I ... had not made any such connection. That’s worth thinking about.