{"id":2977,"date":"2012-12-16T12:56:27","date_gmt":"2012-12-16T01:56:27","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/michellecooper-writer.com\/blog\/?p=2977"},"modified":"2016-12-18T17:36:15","modified_gmt":"2016-12-18T06:36:15","slug":"the-spent-deep-feigns-her-rest","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/michellecooper-writer.com\/blog\/2012\/12\/the-spent-deep-feigns-her-rest\/","title":{"rendered":"The Spent Deep Feigns Her Rest . . ."},"content":{"rendered":"

Today’s poem is by Rudyard Kipling<\/a>, who held some very unappealing beliefs about war and empire-building and The White Man’s Burden<\/a>, but also wrote some excellent children’s books. He even won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1907. This particular poem is quoted by Sophie in A Brief History of Montmaray<\/em>, and is best read aloud while stomping about the deck of a sailing ship. <\/p>\n

Warning: this poem may be seen by some as amoral<\/a>, as the narrator firmly declares that he does not want to work in a church.<\/p>\n

The Bell Buoy<\/strong><\/p>\n

They christened my brother of old\u2014
\nAnd a saintly name he bears\u2014
\nThey gave him his place to hold
\nAt the head of the belfry-stairs,
\nWhere the minster-towers stand
\nAnd the breeding kestrels cry.
\nWould I change with my brother a league inland?
\n(Shoal! \u2019Ware shoal!) Not I!<\/p>\n

In the flush of the hot June prime,
\nO\u2019er sleek flood-tides afire,
\nI hear him hurry the chime
\nTo the bidding of checked Desire;
\nTill the sweated ringers tire
\nAnd the wild bob-majors die.
\nCould I wait for my turn in the godly choir?
\n(Shoal! \u2019Ware shoal!) Not I!<\/p>\n

When the smoking scud is blown\u2014
\nWhen the greasy wind-rack lowers\u2014
\nApart and at peace and alone,
\nHe counts the changeless hours.
\nHe wars with darkling Powers
\n(I war with a darkling sea);
\nWould he stoop to my work in the gusty mirk?
\n(Shoal! \u2019Ware shoal!) Not he!<\/p>\n

There was never a priest to pray,
\nThere was never a hand to toll,
\nWhen they made me guard of the bay,
\nAnd moored me over the shoal.
\nI rock, I reel, and I roll\u2014
\nMy four great hammers ply\u2014
\nCould I speak or be still at the Church\u2019s will?
\n(Shoal! \u2019Ware shoal!) Not I!<\/p>\n

The landward marks have failed,
\nThe fog-bank glides unguessed,
\nThe seaward lights are veiled,
\nThe spent deep feigns her rest:
\nBut my ear is laid to her breast,
\nI lift to the swell\u2014I cry!
\nCould I wait in sloth on the Church\u2019s oath?
\n(Shoal! \u2019Ware shoal!) Not I!<\/p>\n

At the careless end of night
\nI thrill to the nearing screw;
\nI turn in the clearing light
\nAnd I call to the drowsy crew;
\nAnd the mud boils foul and blue
\nAs the blind bow backs away.
\nWill they give me their thanks if they clear the banks?
\n(Shoal! \u2019Ware shoal!) Not they!<\/p>\n

The beach-pools cake and skim,
\nThe bursting spray-heads freeze,
\nI gather on crown and rim
\nThe grey, grained ice of the seas,
\nWhere, sheathed from bitt to trees,
\nThe plunging colliers lie.
\nWould I barter my place for the Church\u2019s grace?
\n(Shoal! \u2019Ware shoal!) Not I!<\/p>\n

Through the blur of the whirling snow,
\nOr the black of the inky sleet,
\nThe lanterns gather and grow,
\nAnd I look for the homeward fleet.
\nRattle of block and sheet\u2014
\n\u2018Ready about\u2014stand by!\u2019
\nShall I ask them a fee ere they fetch the quay?
\n(Shoal! \u2019Ware shoal!) Not I!<\/p>\n

I dip and I surge and I swing
\nIn the rip of the racing tide,
\nBy the gates of doom I sing,
\nOn the horns of death I ride.
\nA ship-length overside,
\nBetween the course and the sand,
\nFretted and bound I bide
\nPeril whereof I cry.
\nWould I change with my brother a league inland?
\n(Shoal! \u2019Ware shoal!) Not I!<\/p>\n

\"'Storm
‘Storm on the Sea’ by Johannes Christiaan Schotel, c 1825<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Today’s poem is by Rudyard Kipling, who held some very unappealing beliefs about war and empire-building and The White Man’s Burden, but also wrote some excellent children’s books. He even won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1907. This particular poem is quoted by Sophie in A Brief History of Montmaray, and is best read … Continue reading The Spent Deep Feigns Her Rest . . .<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[9,15],"tags":[169],"class_list":["post-2977","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-poetry","category-the-montmaray-journals","tag-rudyard-kipling"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/michellecooper-writer.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2977","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/michellecooper-writer.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/michellecooper-writer.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/michellecooper-writer.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/michellecooper-writer.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2977"}],"version-history":[{"count":18,"href":"https:\/\/michellecooper-writer.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2977\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5043,"href":"https:\/\/michellecooper-writer.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2977\/revisions\/5043"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/michellecooper-writer.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2977"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/michellecooper-writer.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2977"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/michellecooper-writer.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2977"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}