Man looking into the sea,taking the view from those who have as much right to it as you have to it yourself,it is human nature to stand in the middle of a thing,but you cannot stand in the middle of this;the sea has nothing to give but a well excavated grave.
The firs stand in a procession, each with an emerald turkey- foot at the top,reserved as their contours, saying nothing;repression, however, is not the most obvious characteristic of the sea;the sea is a collector, quick to return a rapacious look.
There are others besides you who have worn that look —whose expression is no longer a protest; the fish no longer investigate themfor their bones have not lasted:men lower nets, unconscious of the fact that they are desecrating a grave,and row quickly away — the blades of the oarsmoving together like the feet of water-spiders as if there were no such thing as death.
The wrinkles progress among themselves in a phalanx — beautiful under networks of foam,and fade breathlessly while the sea rustles in and out of the seaweed;the birds swim throught the air at top speed, emitting cat-calls as heretofore —the tortoise-shell scourges about the feet of the cliffs, in motion beneath them;and the ocean, under the pulsation of lighthouses and noise of bell-buoys,advances as usual, looking as if it were not that ocean in which dropped things are bound to sink —in which if they turn and twist, it is neither with volition nor consciousness.
A Grave" was written shortly after the sinking of the Lusitania and after Moore's brother Warner joined the Navy as a chaplin and went out to sea.
The sea was one of Moore's favorite topics, but she was also very much aware of the sea as a grave.
The sea, for Moore, was both beautiful and deadly.
Once, when she and her mother were standing together admiring the sea, a man came and stood in from of them,
Moore's mother remarked about how people seem to feel the need to stand in the middle of things instead of stepping back to get the full picture, and this incident became part of the poem.
