The mast Hangs Aft
The Mast hangs aft; we lower our Top-sails.
seeking a birth, aptly captain conns the ship
the vessel bears under the course, furls on trail,
we strike the flag, pull it down upon the cup;
The helm is 'hard a weather', we stow the hold,
the mizzen 's abaft, we gaze land in niep tides,
seaward to the land, course offing and bold.
ship rides a thwart, then betwixt wind and tide.
Ebony trees. Darkened vastness, we abreast,
quarter winds in favor, we lay the quoil on shore.
A whisper rides overset, cold spell's obverse,
sudden of darkness fell, time dissembled yore.
In mist we hear a hymn, icy cords of tensed lyre
numb we launch hoe, maids beseeched, beg;
unintelligibly, our minds freeze, at sound eerie;
accordment passive, and offing, fore to clegg.
They stare within, I shudder, a deaden bind,
deprived; my soul gripes, she smiles - her song,
my defense is veering, and I adore her grind,
I feel the sea's slow caress; forever I die along.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
Added by Poetry Lover
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