Tears

…from the quills of the dead white poets

Walt Whitman (1819 – 1892)

 

Tears! tears! tears!

In the night, in solitude, tears,

On the white shore dripping, dripping, suck’d in by the sand

Tears, not a star shining, all dark and desolate,

Moist tears from the eyes of a muffled head;

O who is that ghost? That form in the dark, with tears?

What shapeless lump is that, bent, crouch’d there on the sand?

Streaming tears, sobbing tears, throes, chocked with wild cries;

O storm, embodied, rising, careering with swift steps along the beach!

O wild and dismal nigh storm, with wind – O belching and desperate!

O shade so sedate and decorous by day, with calm countenance and regulated pace,

But away at night as you fly, none looking – O then the unloosen’d ocean,

O tears! tears! tears!

About Paul Jacko

Jacko was born in Czechoslovakia not long before the communist putsch in February 1948. He studied industrial chemistry there and left in 1969 for Australia, where he became a lawyer and established his own practice. He has now retired and beside hunting, fishing, camping, prospecting and playing golf he amuses himself by writing.
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