The Rock Pool

This is the sea. In these uneven walls
    A wave lies prisoned. Far and far away
Outward to ocean, as the slow tide falls,
    Her sisters through the capes that hold the bay
Dancing in lovely liberty recede.
    Yet lovely in captivity she lies,
Filled with soft colours, where the wavering weed
    Moves gently and discloses to our eyes
Blurred shining veins of rock and lucent shells
    Under the light-shot water; and here repose
Small quiet fish and dimly glowing bells
    Of sleeping sea-anemones that close
Their tender fronds and will not now awake
Till on these rocks the waves returning break.

Edward Shanks

Edward Shanks was an English writer, poet, and novelist, known for his literary contributions during the early 20th century. Born on June 11, 1892, in London, Shanks attended Cambridge University where he was a member of the 'War Poets' of World War I. His works reflect the turmoil and changes of his time. Besides poetry, he wrote novels, essays, and book reviews, contributing significantly to English literature. He passed away on May 4, 1953.

Edward Shanks

Song: Recollection.

Edward Shanks, Simple Poetry

Song in Time of Waiting.

Edward Shanks, Simple Poetry

The Wind

Edward Shanks, Simple Poetry

A Rhymeless Song.

Edward Shanks, Simple Poetry

English

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A Pool Among The Rocks

I know a pool, whose crystalline repose
Sleeps under walls of granite, whence the pine
Leans looking at its image, line for line
Repeated with the sumach and wild-rose
That redden on the rocks; where, at day's close,
The sunset dreams, and lights incarnadine
Dark waters and the place seems brimmed with wine,
A giant cup that splendour overflows.
Night, in her livery of stars and moon,
Stoops to its mirror, gazing steadily;
And, saddened by her beauty, drops one tear,
A falling star; while round it sighs the rune
Of winds, conspirators that sweep from sea,
Whispering of things that fill the heart with fear.

Madison Julius Cawein

The Winter Soldier: The Pool.

    Out of that noise and hurry of large life
        The river flings me in an idle pool:
    The waters still go on with stir and strife
        And sunlit eddies, and the beautiful
    Tall trees lean down upon the mighty flow,
        Reflected in that movement.    Beauty there
    Waxes more beautiful, the moments grow
        Thicker and keener in that lovely air
    Above the river.    Here small sticks and straws
        Come now to harbour, gather, lie and rot,
    Out of cross-currents and the water's flaws
        In this unmoving death, where joy is not,
    Where war's a shade again, ambition rotten
    And bitter hopes and fears alike forgotten.

Edward Shanks

The Cataclysm

When a great wave disturbs the ocean cold
And throws the bottom waters to the sky,
Strange apparitions on the surface lie,
Great battered vessels, stripped of gloss and gold,
And, writhing in their pain, sea-monsters old,
Who stain the waters with a bloody dye,
With unaccustomed mouths bellow and cry
And vex the waves with struggling fin and fold.

And with these too come little trivial things
Tossed from the deeps by the same casual hand;
A faint sea flower, dragged from the lowest sand,
That will not undulate its luminous wings
In the slow tides again, lies dead and swings
Along the muddy ripples to the land.

Edward Shanks

The Mermaids

Sand, sand; hills of sand;
    And the wind where nothing is
Green and sweet of the land;
    No grass, no trees,
    No bird, no butterfly,
But hills, hills of sand,
    And a burning sky.

Sea, sea, mounds of the sea,
    Hollow, and dark, and blue,
Flashing incessantly
    The whole sea through;
    No flower, no jutting root,
Only the floor of the sea,
    With foam afloat.

Blow, blow, winding shells;
    And the watery fish,
Deaf to the hidden bells,
    In the water splash;
No streaming gold, no eyes,
    Watching along the waves,
But far-blown shells, faint bells,
    From the darkling caves.

Walter De La Mare

A New Song about the Sea.

    From Amberley to Storrington,
    From Storrington to Amberley,
    From Amberley to Washington
    You cannot see or smell the sea.
        But why the devil should you wish
        To see the home of silly fish?

    Since I prefer the earth and air,
    The fish may wallow in the sea
    And live the life that they prefer,
    If they will leave the land to me,
        So wish for each what he may wish,
        The earth for me, the sea for fish.

Edward Shanks

Breakers

Far out at sea there has been a storm,
And still, as they roll their liquid acres,
High-heaped the billows lower and glisten.
The air is laden, moist, and warm
With the dying tempest's breath;
And, as I walk the lonely strand
With sea-weed strewn, my forehead fanned
By wet salt-winds, I watch the breakers,
Furious sporting, tossed and tumbling,
Shatter here with a dreadful rumbling -
Watch, and muse, and vainly listen
To the inarticulate mumbling
Of the hoary-headed deep;
For who may tell me what it saith,
Muttering, moaning as in sleep?

Slowly and heavily
Comes in the sea,
With memories of storm o'erfreighted,
With heaving heart and breath abated,
Pregnant with some mysterious, endless sorrow,
And seamed with many a gaping, sighing f...

George Parsons Lathrop