<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=409955" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Aeolian Harp</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">_At The Surf Inn_</div><div style="margin:10px 0">List the harp in window wailing<br>Stirred by fitful gales from sea:<br>Shrieking up in mad crescendo--<br>Dying down in plaintive key!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Listen: less a strain ideal<br>Than Ariel's rendering of the Real.<br>What that Real is, let hint<br>A picture stamped in memory's mint.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Braced well up, with beams aslant,<br>Betwixt the continents sails the _Phocion,_<br>For Baltimore bound from Alicant.<br>Blue breezy skies white fleeces fleck<br>Over the chill blue white-capped ocean:<br>From yard-arm comes--'Wreck ho, a<br>wreck!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dismasted and adrift,<br>Longtime a thing forsaken;<br>Overwashed by every wave<br>Like the slumbering kraken;<br>Heedless if the billow roar,<br>Oblivious of the lull,<br>Leagues and leagues from shoal or shore,<br>It swims--a levelled hull:<br>Bulwarks gone--a shaven wreck,<br>Nameless and a grass-green deck.<br>A lumberman: perchance, in hold<br>Prostrate pines with hemlocks rolled.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It has drifted, waterlogged,<br>Till by trailing weeds beclogged:<br>Drifted, drifted, day by day,<br>Pilotless on pathless way.<br>It has drifted till each plank<br>Is oozy as the oyster-bank:<br>Drifted, drifted, night by night,<br>Craft that never shows a light;<br>Nor ever, to prevent worse knell,<br>Tolls in fog the warning bell.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">From collision never shrinking,<br>Drive what may through darksome smother;<br>Saturate, but never sinking,<br>Fatal only to the _other!_<br>Deadlier than the sunken reef<br>Since still the snare it shifteth,<br>Torpid in dumb ambuscade<br>Waylayingly it drifteth.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O, the sailors--O, the sails!<br>O, the lost crews never heard of!<br>Well the harp of Ariel wails<br>Thought that tongue can tell no word of!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Herman+Melville">Herman Melville</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=409955" data-title="The Aeolian Harp de Herman Melville" data-description="_At The Surf Inn_ List the harp in window wailing Stirred by fitful gales from sea: Shrieking up in mad crescendo-- Dying down in plaintive key! Listen: less a strain ideal Than Ariel's rendering of the Real. What that Real is, let hint A pictur..."></div> </div> </div>

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