Poems (Allen)/Restlessness

by Elizabeth Chase Allen

RESTLESSNESS.

OWN in the harbor the ships lie moored,
  Weary sea-birds with folded wing,—
Anchors sunken and sails secured;
  Yet on the water they rock and swing,
          Rock and swing,
  As though each keel were a living thing.

Silence sleeps on the earth and air,
  Never a breath does the sea-breeze blow,
Yet like living pendulums there,
  Down in the harbor, to and fro,
          To and fro,
  Backward and forward the vessels go.

As a child on its mother's breast,
  Cradled in happy slumber, lies,
Yet, half-conscious of joy and rest,
  Varies its breathing, and moves and sighs,
          Moves and sighs,
  Yet neither wakes nor opens its eyes.

Or it may be, the vessels long
  —For almost human they seem to me—
For the leaping waves, and the storm-wind strong?,
  And the fetterless freedom out at sea,
          Out at sea,
  And feel their rest a captivity.

So as a soul from a higher sphere,
  Fettered down to this earthly clay,
Strives at the chains which bind it here,
  Tossing and struggling, day by day,
          Day by day,
  Longing to break them and flee away,

Strive the ships, in their restlessness,
  Whether the tide be high or low;—
And why these tear-drops, I cannot guess,
  As down in the harbor, to and fro,
          To and fro,
  Backward and forward the vessels go.