Canto 15The Island Grave
Book 1. Part One - England and Baroda 1883 – 1898
Ocean is there and evening; the slow moan
Of the blue waves that like a shaken robe
Two heard together once, one hears alone.
Now gliding white and hushed towards our globe
5Keen January with cold eyes and clear
And snowdrops pendent in each frosty lobe
Ushers the firstborn of the radiant year.
Haply his feet that grind the breaking mould,
May brush the dead grass on thy secret bier,
10Haply his joyless fingers wan and cold
Caress the ruined masses of thy hair,
Pale child of winter, dead ere youth was old.
Art thou so desolate in that bitter air
That even his breath feels warm upon thy face?
15Ah till the daffodil is born, forbear,
And I will meet thee in that lonely place.
Then the grey dawn shall end my hateful days
And death admit me to the silent ways.