Famous Triton Poems by Famous Poets

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The Sea-Child

 HE crawls to the cliff and plays on a brink 
Where every eye but his own would shrink; 
No music he hears but the billow’s noise, 
And shells and weeds are his only toys. 
No lullaby can the mother find
To sing him to rest like the moaning wind; 
And the louder it wails and the fiercer it sweeps, 
The...Read more of this...

Le Jardin Des Tuileries

 This winter air is keen and cold,
And keen and cold this winter sun,
But round my chair the children run
Like little things of dancing gold.

Sometimes about the painted kiosk
The mimic soldiers strut and stride,
Sometimes the blue-eyed brigands hide
In the bleak tangles of the bosk.

And sometimes, while the old nurse cons
Her book, they steal across the square,
And launch their paper navies...Read more of this...

The Beacon In The Storm

 ("Quels sont ces bruits sourds?") 
 
 {XXIV., July 17, 1836.} 


 Hark to that solemn sound! 
 It steals towards the strand.— 
 Whose is that voice profound 
 Which mourns the swallowed land, 
 With moans, 
 Or groans, 
 New threats of ruin close at hand? 
 It is Triton—the storm to scorn 
 Who doth...Read more of this...

The Chambered Nautilus

 THIS is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign,
Sails the unshadowed main,--
The venturous bark that flings
On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings
In gulfs enchanted, where the Siren sings,
And coral reefs lie bare,
Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair.

Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl;
Wrecked is the ship of pearl!
And every chambered cell,
Where its dim...Read more of this...

Men Improve With The Years

 I am worn out with dreams;
A weather-worn, marble triton
Among the streams;
And all day long I look
Upon this lady's beauty
As though I had found in a book
A pictured beauty,
pleased to have filled the eyes
Or the discerning ears,
Delighted to be but wise,
For men improve with the years;
And yet, and yet,
Is this my dream, or the truth?
O would that we had met
When...Read more of this...

I In My Intricate Image

 I

I, in my intricate image, stride on two levels,
Forged in man's minerals, the brassy orator
Laying my ghost in metal,
The scales of this twin world tread on the double,
My half ghost in armour hold hard in death's corridor,
To my man-iron sidle.

Beginning with doom in the bulb, the spring unravels,
Bright as her spinning-wheels, the colic season
Worked on a world of petals;
She...Read more of this...

The World Is Too Much With Us

The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon,
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers,
For this, for everything, we are out...Read more of this...

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