FAR OFF-SHORE

Look, the raft, a signal flying,

Thin—a shred;

None upon the lashed spars lying,

Quick or dead.

Cries the sea-fowl, hovering over,

“Crew, the crew?”

And the billow, reckless, rover,

Sweeps anew!

John Marr and Other Poems · 第 16 / 104 题