White bird of the tempest! O beautiful thing,
With the bosom of snow, and the motionless wing,
Now sweeping the billow, now floating on high,
Now bathing thy plumes in the light of the sky;
Now posing o'er ocean thy delicate form,
Now breasting the surge with thy bosom so warm;
Now darting aloft, with a heavenly scorn,
Now shooting along like a ray of the morn;
Now lost in the folds of the cloud-curtain'd dome,
Now floating abroad like a flake of the foam;
Now silently poised o'er the war of the main,
Like the spirit of Charity brooding o'er pain;
Now gilding with pinion all silently furl'd,
Like an angel descending to comfort the world!
Thou seem'st to my spirit, as upward I gaze,
And see thee, now cloth'd in mellowest rays,
Now lost in the storm-driven vapours, that fly
Like hosts that are routed across the broad sky,
Like a pure spirit, true to its virtue and faith,
'Mid the tempests of nature, of passion, and death!

Rise! beautiful emblem of purity, rise!
On the sweet winds of heaven, to thine own brilliant skies;
Still higher! still higher! till lost to our sight,
Thou hidest thy wings in a mantle of light;
And I think how a pure spirit gazing on thee,
Must long for that moment - the joyous and free,
When the soul disembodied from nature, shall spring
Unfettered, at once to her Maker and King;
When the bright day of service and suffering past,
Shapes, fairer than thine, shall shine round her at last,
While, the standard of battle triumphantly furl'd,
She smiles like a victor, serene on the world!

About Gerald Griffin

Gerald Griffin was an Irish novelist, poet and playwright. He was born in Limerick, Ireland, the son of a brewer. He went to London in 1823 and became a reporter for one of the daily papers, and later turned to writing fiction. Once of his most famous works is The Collegians written about the murder of the Colleen Bawn in 1820. In 1838 he burned all of his unpublished manuscripts and joined the Catholic religious order "Congregation of Christian Brothers" in Cork, and died from typhus fever at their monastery. Gerald Griffin has a street named after him in Limerick... Read more...

Poet of the day

Christopher Pearse Cranch (March 8, 1815 – January 20, 1892) was an American writer and artist.

Cranch was born in the District of Columbia. He attended Columbian College and Harvard Divinity School. He briefly held a position as a Unitarian minister. Later, he pursued various occupations: a magazine editor, caricaturist,...

Poem of the day

Songs that could span the earth,
When leaping thought had stirred them,
In many an hour since birth,
We heard or dreamed we heard them.

Sometimes to all their sway
We yield ourselves half fearing,
Sometimes with hearts grown grey
We curse ourselves for...