Pressed by the Moon


Pressed by the Moon, mute arbitress of tides,
While the loud equinox its power combines,
The sea no more its swelling surge confines,
But o’er the shrinking land sublimely rides.





The wild blast, rising from the western cave,
Drives the huge billows from their heaving bed;
Tears from their grassy tombs the village dead,
And breaks the silent sabbath of the grave!





With shells and sea-weed mingled, on the shore,
Lo! their bones whiten in the frequent wave;
But vain to them the winds and waters rave;
They hear the warring elements no more:
While I am doomed, by life’s long storm oppressed,
To gaze with envy on their gloomy rest.


Sonnet Written in the Churchyard at Middleton (1789) by Charlotte Smith
Photographs of Rathfran Friary, County Mayo.
Remembering all those no longer with us to celebrate Christmas

2 comments on “Pressed by the Moon

  1. Vincent Delany says:

    Happy Christmas to the Irish Aesthete from one of his fans!

  2. elmozi says:

    Beautiful. To absent loved ones!
    Merry Christmas to you from another fan.

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