POETRY.
THE MIDDLE WATCH.
IN a blue dusk the ship astern
Uplifts her slender spars, With golden lights that seem to burn Among the silver stars.
Like fleets along a cloudy shore The constellations creep, Like planets on the ocean floor Our silent course we keep.
And over the endless plain Out of the night forlorn Rises a faint refrain, A song of the day to be born,— Watch, oh watch, till ye find again Life and the land of morn !
From a dim West to a dark East Our lines unwavering head, As if their motion long had ceased And Time itself were dead.
Vainly we watch the deep below, Vainly the void above; They died a thousand years Life and the land we love.
But over the endless plain Out of the night forlorn Ibises a faint refrain, A song of the day to be born,—.
Watch, oh watch, till ye find again Life and the land of morn !
HENRY NEWBOLT.
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