Summary

John Presland The Deluge, and Other Poems

What can death render us commensurate
With what it takes away; the voice of birds
On sweet spring mornings, and the face of spring;
And lush long grass around the browsing herds;
And shadows on the distant hills the flying rain-clouds fling?
What is there brighter in the world to come
Than white-winged sea-gulls, flashing in the sun
Above the blue Atlantic; what more free,
Yet what more stable, than those white wings, strung
All motionless, against a wind that whips the racing sea?
Source: Gutenberg

John Presland The Deluge, and Other Poems

For the gloom that, surrounding, made it rare;
And God in His wisdom said:
"Of my handiwork but the human soul
Can suffer the laws of change,
That only errs from my set control,
And takes in pleasure, and pays in toll,
The whole of its passion's range.
"But who shall judge or who condemn
This work that my hands have made,
For the thread that here appears a gem,
—So have I mingled and twisted them—
Is there the gleam of a blade?
"Nor evil nor good exists for me,
As I mingle strand with strand
Source: Gutenberg

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