The Wan Sun Westers, Faint And Slow

The wan sun westers, faint and slow;
The eastern distance glimmers gray;
An eerie haze comes creeping low
Across the little, lonely bay;
And from the sky-line far away
About the quiet heaven are spread
Mysterious hints of dying day,
Thin, delicate dreams of green and red.

And weak, reluctant surges lap
And rustle round and down the strand.
No other sound . . . If it should hap,
The ship that sails from fairy-land!
The silken shrouds with spells are manned,
The hull is magically scrolled,
The squat mast lives, and in the sand
The gold prow-griffin claws a hold.

It steals to seaward silently;
Strange fish-folk follow thro' the gloom;
Great wings flap overhead; I see
The Castle of the Drowsy Doom
Vague thro' the changeless twilight loom,
Enchanted, hushed.    And ever there
She slumbers in eternal bloom,
Her cushions hid with golden hair.

1875

William Ernest Henley

William Ernest Henley was an English poet, critic, and editor. Despite battling tuberculosis from a young age, Henley is best known for his resilience and strength, qualities exemplified in his most famous poem, 'Invictus'. Henley was also a notable figure in the literary circles of his time, befriending and influencing key writers, such as Robert Louis Stevenson, who modeled the character Long John Silver after him.

William Ernest Henley

Rhymes And Rhythms - XX

William Ernest Henley, Simple Poetry

There Is A Wheel Inside My Head

William Ernest Henley, Simple Poetry

Under A Stagnant Sky

William Ernest Henley, Simple Poetry

Friends. . . Old Friends

William Ernest Henley, Simple Poetry

English

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Dark is the morning with mist; in the narrow mouth of the harbor
    Motionless lies the sea, under its curtain of cloud;
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    Like to the towers of a town, built on the verge of the sea.

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Spellbound by a sweet fantasy
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Attadale West Highlands - To A. J.

A black and glassy float, opaque and still,
The loch, at furthest ebb supine in sleep,
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Heather, and corn, and wisps of loitering haze;
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By The Summer Sea

Sunlight and shrill cicada and the low,
Slow, sleepy kissing of the sea and shore,
And rumor of the wind. The morning wore
A sullen face of fog that lifted slow,
Letting her eyes gleam through of grayest glow;
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Some old witchwife with many a gibe and blow.
But now the day has put off every care,
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The Isle Of Sleep.

In those dark mornings, deep in June,
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    Slept on the hill-tops far away.

My window looked into the dawn,
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I turned and gazed into the west,
    The river murmured in my ear
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...

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