Occupy Poetry

A Myth

BY Charles Kingsley

A FLOATING, a floating
Across the sleeping sea,
All night I heard a singing bird
Upon the topmast tree.
“Oh, came you from the isles of Greece
Or from the banks of Seine;
Or off some tree in forests free,
Which fringe the western main?”
“I came not off the old world
Nor yet from off the new—
But I am one of the birds of God
Which sing the whole night through.”
“Oh, sing and wake the dawning—
Oh, whistle for the wind;
The night is long, the current strong,
My boat it lags behind.”
“The current sweeps the old world,
The current sweeps the new;
The wind will blow, the dawn will glow,
Ere thou hast sail’d them through.”

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