A Shell.

From what rock-hollow'd cavern deep in ocean,
    Where jagged columns break the billow's beat,
Whirl'd upward by some wild mid-world commotion,
    Has this rose-tinted shell steer'd to my feet?

Perchance the wave that bore it has rejoiced
    Above Man's founder'd hopes, and shatter'd pride,
Whilst fierce Euroclydon swept, trumpet-voiced,
    Through the frail spars, and hurl'd them in the tide,
    And the lost seamen floated at its side!

Ah! thus too oft do Woe and Beauty meet,
    Swept onward by the self-same tide of fate,
The bitter following swift upon the sweet,
    Close, close together, yet how separate!

Frail waif from the sublime storm-shaken sea,
    Thou seem'st the childhood toy of some old king,
Who 'mid the shock of nations lights on thee,
    And instant backward do his thoughts take wing
To the unclouded days of infancy;
    Then, sighing, thus away the foolish joy doth fling.

Forth from thine inner chambers come there out
    Low murmurs of sweet mystic melodies,
Old Neptune's couch winding lone caves about,
    In tones that faintly through the waves arise,
    And steal to mortal ears in softest sighs.

The poet dreams of olden ages flowing
    Through the time-ocean to the listening soul,
Ages when from each fountain clear and glowing,
    Unto the spirit Naiad voices stole.

And still, from earth and sea, there ever pealeth
    A voice far softer than leal lover's lay,
Bearing the heart, o'er which its true sense stealeth,
    Far to diviner dreams of joy away,
    And to the wisdom of a riper day.

Walter R. Cassels

Walter R. Cassels was a British poet and author primarily known for his collection of religious poetry, "Supernatural Religion" published in the late 19th century. Though the work was initially published anonymously, it sparked considerable controversy and debate over its skeptical views on Christianity and the supernatural. Cassels' style is marked by thought-provoking themes and meticulous craftsmanship, placing him among notable literary figures of his time.

Walter R. Cassels

Wind.

Walter R. Cassels, Simple Poetry

The Star In The East.

Walter R. Cassels, Simple Poetry

Memnon.

Walter R. Cassels, Simple Poetry

Guy Of Warwick. - An Episode.

Walter R. Cassels, Simple Poetry

English

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Sea Margins.

        Ever restless, ever toiling,
    Fretting fiercely on its narrow bounds,
    Still filling heaven and earth with mournful sounds,
Old ocean, sullen from its rocks recoiling,
    Rearing wild waves foam-crested to the sky,
    Lashes again the beaches angrily:

        Slowly victor-like advancing,
    Marching roughly o'er the conquer'd land,
    Clean sweeping olden limits from the strand,
In proud derision o'er the spoil'd Earth glancing,
    Where 'neath its ruthless tide on hill or plain,
    No flower or shady leaf shall bud again.

        Slowly thus the ocean creeping,
    Creeping coldly o'er the world of old,
    Stole many an Eden from the Age of Gold,
And gazing now we see blank billows sweeping,
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Walter R. Cassels

The Dark River.

    Across the mountains and the hills,
Across the valleys and the swelling seas,
    By lakes and rivers whose deep murmur fills
Earth's dreams with sweet prophetic melodies,
    Together have we come unto this place,
    And here we say farewell a little space:

    You, backward turning through the land,
To tarry 'mid its beauty yet awhile--
    I, o'er the River, to another strand
With cheerful heart, so part we with a smile.
    Shall space have any power o'er god-like souls?
    Love shall bridge o'er the stream that 'twixt us rolls!

    Together wend we to the tide,
And as the first wave wets my foot, we part;--
    E'en now methinks I see the other side;
And, though the stream be swift, a steady heart
    And stalwart arm shall quell its col...

Walter R. Cassels

Floating Down The River.

My little bark glides steadily along,
    Still and unshaken as a summer dream;
    And never falls the oar into the stream,
For 'tis but morning, and the current strong;
    So let the ripples bear me as they will;
Sweet, sweet is Life, and every sound is song;
    Sorrow lies sleeping, and Joy sends me still
            Swift floating down the River.

Bright shines the sun athwart the linden-trees;
    One little cloud alone steals o'er the sky,
    As o'er the widening stream below steal I,
Fann'd by the same faint perfume-laden breeze;
    Bird-music answers sweetly through the air,
The unheard warbling of heart melodies;
    Thus go I dreaming, free from faintest care,
            Swift floating down the River.

Pure lie the broad-leaved lilies ...

Walter R. Cassels

Years Ago.

    This day it was--Ah! years ago,
Long years ago, when first we met;
When first her voice thrill'd through my heart,
Aeolian-sweet, thrill'd through my heart;
    And glances from her soft brown eyes,
    Like gleamings out of Paradise,
Shone on my heart, and made it bright
With fulness of celestial light;
This day it seems--this day--and yet,
    Ah! years ago--long years ago.

    This day it was--Ah! years ago,
Long years ago, when first I knew
How all her beauty fill'd my soul,
With mystic glory fill'd my soul;
    And every word and smile she gave,
    Like motions of a sunlit wave,
Rock'd me with divine emotion,
Joyous, o'er Life's smiling ocean;
This day it seems--this day--and yet,
    Ah! years ago--long years ago.

   ...

Walter R. Cassels

A Shell.

Oh, take this shell, this pretty thing
    With tinted waves of pearly red;
Hold close your ear and hear it sing,
    Then tell me what its voice hath said.
    A song of surges deep and strong,
    A song of summer sweet and long,
    A sound of storm and wind and rain,
    A sound of joy--a glad refrain.

O plaything of the idle sea,
    Whence come these changing tints of thine?
Have sunset clouds looked down on thee
    And stained thee with their hues divine?
    Oh, tell the secrets thou must know
    Of clouds above and waves below;
    Oh, whisper of the bending sky
    And ocean caves where jewels lie.

O beauteous sea-shell, tinged with red,
    What dost thou know; what canst thou tell?
Unto what mysteries are thou wed,
    ...

Fannie Isabelle Sherrick

The Sculptor.

The dream fell on him one calm summer night,
    Stealing amid the waving of the corn,
    That waited, golden, for the harvest morn--
The dream fell on him through the still moonlight.

The land lay silent, and the new mown hay
    Rested upon it like a dreamy sleep;
    And stealing softly o'er each yellow heap,
The night-breeze bore sweet incense-breath away.

The dew lay thick upon the unstirr'd leaves;
    The glow-worm glisten'd brightly as he pass'd;
    The thrush still chaunted, but the swallows fast
Hied to their home beneath lone cottage eaves.

He had been straying through the land that day,
    Dreaming of beauty as some dream of love;
    And all the earth beneath, the heaven above,
In mirror'd glory on his spirit lay.

And, a...

Walter R. Cassels