The Cloud Confines

Dante Gabriel Rossetti 1828 (London) – 1882 (Birchington-on-Sea)



The day is dark and the night
         To him that would search their heart;
         No lips of cloud that will part
     Nor morning song in the light:
         Only, gazing alone,
         To him wild shadows are shown,
         Deep under deep unknown
     And height above unknown height.
             Still we say as we go,--
               "Strange to think by the way,
           Whatever there is to know,
               That shall we know one day."

   The Past is over and fled;
       Nam'd new, we name it the old;
       Thereof some tale hath been told,
   But no word comes from the dead;
       Whether at all they be,
       Or whether as bond or free,
       Or whether they too were we,
   Or by what spell they have sped.
           Still we say as we go,--
               "Strange to think by the way,
           Whatever there is to know,
               That shall we know one day."

   What of the heart of hate
       That beats in thy breast, O Time?--
       Red strife from the furthest prime,
   And anguish of fierce debate;
       War that shatters her slain,
       And peace that grinds them as grain,
       And eyes fix'd ever in vain
   On the pitiless eyes of Fate.
           Still we say as we go,--
               "Strange to think by the way,
           Whatever there is to know,
               That shall we know one day."

   What of the heart of love
       That bleeds in thy breast, O Man?--
       Thy kisses snatch'd 'neath the ban
   Of fangs that mock them above;
       Thy bells prolong'd unto knells,
       Thy hope that a breath dispels,
       Thy bitter forlorn farewells
   And the empty echoes thereof?
           Still we say as we go,--
               "Strange to think by the way,
           Whatever there is to know,
               That shall we know one day."

   The sky leans dumb on the sea,
       Aweary with all its wings;
       And oh! the song the sea sings
   Is dark everlastingly.
       Our past is clean forgot,
       Our present is and is not,
       Our future's a seal'd seedplot,
   And what betwixt them are we?--
           We who say as we go,--
               "Strange to think by the way,
           Whatever there is to know,
                 That shall we know one day."

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Submitted on May 13, 2011

Modified on April 09, 2023

1:49 min read
149

Quick analysis:

Scheme abbacccaDEDE fggfhhhfDEDE ijjikkkiDEDE lmmlnnnlDEDE hnnxooahdEDE
Closest metre Iambic trimeter
Characters 2,207
Words 362
Stanzas 5
Stanza Lengths 12, 12, 12, 12, 12

Dante Gabriel Rossetti

Dante Gabriel Rossetti was an English poet, illustrator, painter and translator. more…

All Dante Gabriel Rossetti poems | Dante Gabriel Rossetti Books

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    What is the term for the continuation of a sentence without a pause beyond the end of a line, couplet, or stanza.
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