William Vaughn Moody: Gloucester Moors
The DayPoems Poetry Collection
Timothy Bovee, editor
www.daypoems.net



  Click on the bonsai for the next poem.



DayPoems Forum

Click to submit poems to DayPoems, comment on DayPoems or a poem within, comment on other poetry sites, update links, or simply get in touch. DayPoems Forum.

DayPoems Front

Poetry Whirl
  Google William Vaughn Moody
  Latest Poetry News

Indexes
  Poems
  Poets
  Editor's poems
  Poetry Places

Poetry Places
  Canadian Literature Archive: Marilyn Bowering
  A Dove's Poetry Nest
  Strings
  Lynsey's Homepage
  Basil Bunting Poetry Centre
  I Am the Officer

Nodes powered by
Open Directory Project<br>at dmoz.org
Open Directory Project at dmoz.org


DayPoems Favorites

  PORT: An Online Visual Arts Journal
  A Poet on a Magical Journey Home
  Chronicles of a Sea Woman
  Parallels Studio
  Bipolar Poetry
  Mantra.X
  Poetry, Film and Books
  Poetry Archive

  Project Gutenberg, a huge collection of books as text, produced as a volunteer enterprise starting in 1990. This is the source of the first poetry placed on DayPoems.
  Tina Blue's Beginner's Guide to Prosody, exactly what the title says, and well worth reading.
  Epicanthic Fold: "If a guy somewhere in Asia makes a blog and no one reads it, does it really exist?"
  popomo.net, miniature, minimalist-inspired sculptures created from industrial cereamics, an art project at Lewis and Clark College in Portland, Oregon.
  pink.popomo.net, More projects from Portland
  oarena.net, Furby, Eliza, Mr_Friss and Miss_Friss.
  Save Point 0.8.1, a Portland, Oregon, exhibit, Aug. 13-Sept. 5, 2004, at Disjecta.




D
a
y
P
o
e
m
s

*
D
a
y
P
o
e
m
s

*
D
a
y
P
o
e
m
s

*
D
a
y
P
o
e
m
s

*
D
a
y
P
o
e
m
s

*
D
a
y
P
o
e
m
s

*
D
a
y
P
o
e
m
s

Click here!
Won't you help support DayPoems?

Gloucester Moors

1869-1910


A mile behind is Gloucester town
Where the fishing fleets put in,
A mile ahead the land dips down
And the woods and farms begin.
Here, where the moors stretch free
In the high blue afternoon,
Are the marching sun and talking sea,
And the racing winds that wheel and flee
On the flying heels of June.

Jill-o'er-the-ground is purple blue,
Blue is the quaker-maid,
The wild geranium holds its dew
Long in the boulder's shade.
Wax-red hangs the cup
From the huckleberry boughs,
In barberry bells the grey moths sup
Or where the choke-cherry lifts high up
Sweet bowls for their carouse.

Over the shelf of the sandy cove
Beach-peas blossom late.
By copse and cliff the swallows rove
Each calling to his mate.
Seaward the sea-gulls go,
And the land-birds all are here;
That green-gold flash was a vireo,
And yonder flame where the marsh-flags grow
Was a scarlet tanager.

This earth is not the steadfast place
We landsmen build upon;
From deep to deep she varies pace,
And while she comes is gone.
Beneath my feet I feel
Her smooth bulk heave and dip;
With velvet plunge and soft upreel
She swings and steadies to her keel
Like a gallant, gallant ship.

These summer clouds she sets for sail,
The sun is her masthead light,
She tows the moon like a pinnace frail
Where her phosphor wake churns bright.
Now hid, now looming clear,
On the face of the dangerous blue
The star fleets tack and wheel and veer,
But on, but on does the old earth steer
As if her port she knew.

God, dear God! Does she know her port,
Though she goes so far about?
Or blind astray, does she make her sport
To brazen and chance it out?
I watched when her captains passed:
She were better captainless.
Men in the cabin, before the mast,
But some were reckless and some aghast,
And some sat gorged at mess.

By her battened hatch I leaned and caught
Sounds from the noisome hold, --
Cursing and sighing of souls distraught
And cries too sad to be told.
Then I strove to go down and see;
But they said, "Thou art not of us!"
I turned to those on the deck with me
And cried, "Give help!" But they said, "Let be:
Our ship sails faster thus."

Jill-o'er-the-ground is purple blue,
Blue is the quaker-maid,
The alder-clump where the brook comes through
Breeds cresses in its shade.
To be out of the moiling street
With its swelter and its sin!
Who has given to me this sweet,
And given my brother dust to eat?
And when will his wage come in?

Scattering wide or blown in ranks,
Yellow and white and brown,
Boats and boats from the fishing banks
Come home to Gloucester town.
There is cash to purse and spend,
There are wives to be embraced,
Hearts to borrow and hearts to lend,
And hearts to take and keep to the end, --
O little sails, make haste!

But thou, vast outbound ship of souls,
What harbor town for thee?
What shapes, when thy arriving tolls,
Shall crowd the banks to see?
Shall all the happy shipmates then
Stand singing brotherly?
Or shall a haggard ruthless few
Warp her over and bring her to,
While the many broken souls of men
Fester down in the slaver's pen,
And nothing to say or do?


Back to top

DayPoems Poem No. 1121



Comment on DayPoems?

If you are like us, you have strong feelings about poetry, and about each poem you read. Let it all out! Comment on this poem, any poem, DayPoems, other poetry places or the art of poetry at DayPoems Feedback.



Won't you help support DayPoems?


Click here to learn more about how you can keep DayPoems on the Web . . .


Copyright

The DayPoems web site, www.daypoems.net, is copyright 2001-2005 by Timothy K. Bovee. All rights reserved.

The authors of poetry and other material appearing on DayPoems retain full rights to their work. Any requests for publication in other venues must be negotiated separately with the authors. The editor of DayPoems will gladly assist in putting interested parties in contact with the authors.

Google DayPoems


Support DayPoems.

Buy your books here

Latest Chapbooks from Powells!!!

 
Search:
Keywords:
In Association with Amazon.com







Bonsai courtesy of
The Online Bonsai Icon Collection
http://www.hav.com/tobic.html