POEM
IT might be the day after the last day,
The trumpets still, the nations gone away, The visiting deities left in a crowd, And the sun itself wrapped in a single cloud.
Even a look today is like a rebirth
Of the ill-used, bountiful, menial earth.
Forget that she is not all. Remember only That as we sit here we two are not lonely, That this is worth seeing, if it were only for These men and women walking along the shore In ill-cut clothes fit for our curious kindred.
0 turn on them your from death uplifted head !
Then watch the wave falling and falling and falling, Hark to the bird from the sea-castle calling, Pore on these smooth illegible rocks that stand Like quiet grazing beasts on the soft sand, And think this is your home : air, sea and land.
EDWIN MUIR.
Previous page
