This is the land the sunset washes,
Theses are the banks of the Yellow sea;
Where it rose, or whither it rushes,
These are the western mystery!
Night after night her purple traffic
Strews
the landing with opal bales
Merchantmen
poise upon horizons,
Dip,
and vanish like orioles
(297)
(297)
Aucun commentaire:
Enregistrer un commentaire