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Thomas Cole's poetry

the collected poems of America's foremost painter of the Hudson River School reflecting his feelings for nature and the romantic spirit of the Nineteenth Century

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[11. Alas! he is a wretch who has no home]

Alas! he is a wretch who has no home,
Kindred nor friends on whom to turn his thought,
Whose lot is o'er the cold wide world to roam:
Whose season of return is never sought
Whose wanderings are alike unmark'd—unknown
By Mother, Sister, Wife, by any loving one—
He is a torn weed on a desolate sea
Toss'd by the waves and beaten by the winds
And driven by currents unresistingly
From deep to deep, and never finds
A peaceful haven when the tide will fling
It gently round some mossy rock to cling.
And like the wind on some vast wilderness
That sighing seeketh rest, but seeks in vain,
Unlov'd and uncarress'd, companionless
It mournful wanders o'er the dreary plain.
If to outlive affection is my doom
Welcome will be the shelter of the Tomb.