Algernon Charles Swinburne

No blast of air or fire of sun
Puts out the light whereby we run
With girdled read more

No blast of air or fire of sun
Puts out the light whereby we run
With girdled loins our lamplit race,
And each from each takes heart of grace
And spirit till his turn be done.

In fierce March weather
White waves break tether,
And whirled together
At either hand,
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In fierce March weather
White waves break tether,
And whirled together
At either hand,
Like weeds uplifted,
The tree-trunks rifted
In spars are drifted,
Like foam or sand.

From too much love of living,
From hope and fear set free,
We thank with brief thanksgiving
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From too much love of living,
From hope and fear set free,
We thank with brief thanksgiving
Whatever gods may be
That no life lives forever;
That dead men rise up never;
That even the weariest river
Winds somewhere safe to sea.

Between the two seas the sea-bird's wing makes halt,
Wind-weary; while with lifting head he waits
For read more

Between the two seas the sea-bird's wing makes halt,
Wind-weary; while with lifting head he waits
For breath to reinspire him from the gates
That open still toward sunrise on the vault
High-domed of morning.
- Algernon Charles Swinburne,

Sark, fairer than aught in the world that the lit skies cover,
Laughs inly behind her cliffs, and the read more

Sark, fairer than aught in the world that the lit skies cover,
Laughs inly behind her cliffs, and the seafarers mark
As a shrine where the sunlight serves, though the blown clouds
hover, Sark.