|
|
To The Master Of The Meteor
By Herman Melville
Lonesome on earth's loneliest deep,
Sailor! who dost thy vigil keep--
Off the Cape of Storms dost musing sweep
Over monstrous waves that curl and comb;
Of thee we think when here from brink
We blow the mead in bubbling foam.
Of thee we think, in a ring we link;
To the shearer of ocean's fleece we drink,
And the Meteor rolling home.
Extra Info:
|
|
Printable Page
Add Your Thoughts on this poem.
This page viewed 348 times.
|
|
