 | The Comrades |  |
No sail. No wink of wings.
No haze of land.
No haze of land.
Look! who comes wafted here—
What lone yet all unfearful mariner?
You cannot see him? No; he mocks the sight—
Mid such immensities so mere a mite.
Look close! That tiniest speck of brownish red,
Perched on his single subtle spider-thread!
What lone yet all unfearful mariner?
You cannot see him? No; he mocks the sight—
Mid such immensities so mere a mite.
171
Perched on his single subtle spider-thread!
| The Comrades | |