The cold green rocks and lapping waves <br />Are all my world as here I sit <br />With downcast eye and heart that craves <br />The bush and blue sky over it. <br /> <br />The tide of years is washing by, <br />The misty water drifts between <br />A soul with wings that may not fly <br />And shadowy realms that might have been. <br /> <br />Too late, too late, alas, I know <br />The track that winds by shining leaves <br />From where the flood reflects, below, <br />The greyness of the heart that grieves. <br /> <br />Another yet may tread the way, <br />And offer at that hidden shrine <br />His gift of rolled and twisted clay, <br />And set his lips to holy wine. <br /> <br />Another yet may tinge the flame <br />Upon that altar blue or red, <br />And freely call upon Her name, <br />And taste at will the blessed bread. <br /> <br />The waves are grey about the rocks, <br />A cold wind sets across the sea, <br />A travelling ray of sunlight mocks <br />The shadow on the heart of me.<br /><br />John Le Gay Brereton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-grey-tide/
