William M. W. Call

"This impressive, if structually unsatisfactory sonnet, is from Mr. Call's Golden Histories (Smith, Elder & Co., 1871). Mr. Call has written much, but has not succeeded in attracting wide notice. He has certainly, however, written no other sonnet so fine as this..." (Sharp)

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The Haunted Shore

I walk'd at sunset by the lonely waves,
When Autumn stood about me, gold and brown;
I watch'd the great red sun, in clouds, go down,
An Orient King, that 'mid his bronzëd slaves
Dies, leaning on his sceptre, with his crown.
A hollow moaning from innumerous caves,
In green and glassy darkness sunk below,
Told of some grand and ancient deed of woe,
Of murdered kings that sleep in weltering graves.
Still thro' the sunshine wavering to and fro,
With sails all set, the little vessels glide;
Mild is the Eve and mild the ebbing Tide,
And yet that hollow moaning will not go,
Nor the old Fears that with the Sea abide.

(Text from Sonnets of This Century)