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LANDLOCK’D
“Field upon field yon sky o’erstoops
Ere to the sea it come.”
—Like a struck child, she quails, she droops,
She cowers, and is dumb.
“Nay, could these eyes, thy windows, yield
The view thy clamour craves:
Yon same sky, deepening o’er a field,
A widening field, of waves:
“Till, thro’ the mystic lip-to-lip
Of furthest sky and sea
The elusive limit soft should slip
Into Infinity:
“Say, O my soul! would’st lie content
Before that vision vast?
Thy restless longing wholly spent,
Thy passion still’d, at last?
“No! Thine inevitable wail
Too duly I divine.
Would that I were a ship, to sail
Past yon horizon-line!
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