By A.H.Clough
Say not the struggle naught availeth,
The labour and the wounds are vain,
The enemy faints not, nor faileth,
And as things have been they remain.
If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars;
It may be, in yon smoke conceal'd,
Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers,
And, but for you, possess the field.
For while the tired waves, vainly breaking,
Seem here no painful inch to gain,
Far back, through creeks and inlets making,
Comes silent, flooding in, the main.
And not by eastern windows only,
When daylight comes, comes in the light;
In front the sun climbs slow, how slowly!
But westward, look, the land is bright!
Comments : Found a lovely poem by A.H.Clough on the wondering minstrels blog and forwarded it to several friends. One of whom wrote back and directed me to this poem (Thanks A).
I really liked the imagery in this poem, especially 'for while the tired waves........in the main.'
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