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 | Drifted in |  |
The storm was resting: the clouds once more
Had given our sky an open door,
And like a friend that we long since knew,
Back came the sun. Then our Captain drew
A watch of sturdy and tarnished form,
That calmly had ticked through many a storm,
In scenes with deadlier danger blent,
And much less stable environment.
He saw that its two hands that agreed
Just twice each day—the longer brother
(As—speaking exactly—there was need)
Else always criticizing the other,
Were soon to be pointing toward the sky,
Both joining together their persons and power,
As if to solemnly testify
That noon's high twelve was the reigning hour.
From his belongings a sextant came,
Which knowledge drew from the sun's gold flame.
Our latitude and our longitude
He solved from the studies he had pursued
In Ocean's great University,
Where libraries all about there be,
Whose books have the clouds and stars for shelves,
And rustling leaflets that turn themselves.
And with maps spread about him there,
He held the point of a penknife where
In sturdily builded hardihood,
Our half luxurious prison stood.
Had given our sky an open door,
And like a friend that we long since knew,
Back came the sun. Then our Captain drew
A watch of sturdy and tarnished form,
That calmly had ticked through many a storm,
In scenes with deadlier danger blent,
And much less stable environment.
He saw that its two hands that agreed
Just twice each day—the longer brother
(As—speaking exactly—there was need)
Else always criticizing the other,
Were soon to be pointing toward the sky,
Both joining together their persons and power,
As if to solemnly testify
That noon's high twelve was the reigning hour.
From his belongings a sextant came,
Which knowledge drew from the sun's gold flame.
Our latitude and our longitude
He solved from the studies he had pursued
In Ocean's great University,
Where libraries all about there be,
Whose books have the clouds and stars for shelves,
And rustling leaflets that turn themselves.
And with maps spread about him there,
He held the point of a penknife where
In sturdily builded hardihood,
Our half luxurious prison stood.
| Drifted in | |