The Writings of Bret Harte standard library edition |
 | 12. |
| 1. |
|
| 1. |
| 3. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 6. |
| 20. |
|
|
|
“KITTY HAWK”
|
 | The Writings of Bret Harte |  |
“KITTY HAWK”
A MARINE DIALOGUE
[_]
[Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, a small settlement and signal station, was, in November, 1877, the scene of the wreck of the United States man-of-war Huron, and the loss of almost all the crew. The fact that apparently no effort was made at rescue, and the finding for many miles along the shore of the bodies stripped of all valuables, led to considerable comment.]
- Poet
- Kitty
Where the seas worn out with chasing, at thy white feet sink embracing, thou still sittest, coldly facing,
Kitty Hawk!
Kitty Hawk!
398
Facing, gazing seaward ever, on each weak or strong endeavor, but in grief, or pity, never,
Kitty Hawk!
Kitty Hawk!
Eagles, sea-gulls round thee flying, land birds spent with speed and dying, even Man to thee outcrying,
Kitty Hawk!
Kitty Hawk!
All thou seest, all thou hearest, yet thou carest naught nor fearest, flesh nor fowl to thee is dearest,
Kitty Hawk!
Kitty Hawk!
Art thou human? art thou woman? art thou dead to love and to man more than all relentless, ever?
Kitty Hawk!
Kitty Hawk!
Hast thou wrongs to right, O Kitty? wrongs that move the soul to pity? tell to me thy mournful ditty,
Kitty Hawk!
Kitty Hawk!
Tell me all! how some false lover, vagrant ship-boy, sailor rover, left, bereft thee, threw thee over,
Kitty Hawk!
Kitty Hawk!
For some Antipodean savage, left thy rage the shore to ravage (with a faint idea of salvage),
Kitty Hawk!
Kitty Hawk!
How thy vague but tragic story clothes the sandy promontory, calls in accents monitory,
Kitty Hawk!
Kitty Hawk!
How thy feline appellation, in accipitrine combination, most befits a rhymed narration,
Kitty Hawk!
Kitty Hawk!
399
Festive tramp! around me prying—man with hair unkempt and flying—youth with neck and head retractile,
Like a clam.
Like a clam.
Draw within thy soft inclosure, stop this cerebral exposure, for that 's not the kind of hairpin
That I am.
That I am.
If you're me apostrophizing, with this attitudinizing, prithee, hasten your uprising,
And in time,
And in time,
On this beach, which is the Station's, leave some certain indentations—“footprints” for some sailing brother,
Who might rhyme!
Who might rhyme!
For my name is Jane Maria, and my father, Kezuriah, though he greatly might admire,
All your talk,
All your talk,
As one of the town officials, might prefer that his initials should appear, just as he writes them—
K. T. Hawk.
K. T. Hawk.
| The Writings of Bret Harte | |