(1762 - 1850 / England)

At Dover

Thou, whose stern spirit loves the storm,
That, borne on Terror's desolating wings,
Shakes the high forest, or remorseless flings
The shivered surge; when rising griefs deform
Thy peaceful breast, hie to yon steep, and think,--
When thou dost mark the melancholy tide
Beneath thee, and the storm careering wide,--
Tossed on the surge of life how many sink!
And if thy cheek with one kind tear be wet,
And if thy heart be smitten, when the cry
Of danger and of death is heard more nigh,
Oh, learn thy private sorrows to forget;
Intent, when hardest beats the storm, to save
One who, like thee, has suffered from the wave.

by William Lisle Bowles

Other poems of BOWLES (142)

Comments (4)

This poem and At Malvern both show how we can seek courage and calm at the base of great mountains and cliffs- or probably any work of the Creator.
......beautifully penned and so poetic, a lovely write ★
I would like to know more about this poem. It seems to be talking about a disaster of some kind, or the potential of one. But I may be looking at it too literally. Perhaps the raging wind and storm are metaphors. I will have to think about this one for a while. It is a beautifully written poem.
Borne on Terror 's desolating wings! Nice work.