Old Year Leaves | ||
93
AFTER SUNSET OFF PAUILLAC, FRANCE.
April 18th, 1879.
Day hath departed, save a few faint streaksOf light that fleck the bosom of the sky;
These, and these only, stay to testify
Of proud Night's conquest. Hark! that sound bespeaks
Our nearness to the Ocean, and I see
Its ripples at my feet;—a soft clear song
Is brceze-borne from a vessel's deck along.
The crew with musical monotony
Raise anchor swiftly, and the ship doth glide
In silence, save for the chant growing low
Wave-wafted landwards. Little doth she know
If calms will come, or fiercest storms betide:—
Alas, o'er life's strange sea we all must sail
Like her, nor know if calm or tempest will prevail.
Old Year Leaves | ||