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1837–1913

V.

Joaquin Miller

O broken ship! O starless shore! O black and everlasting night, Where love comes never any more To light man's way with heaven's light.

A godless man with bags of gold I think a most unholy sight; Ah, who so desolate at night Amid death's sleepers still and cold?

A godless man on holy ground I think a most unholy sight. I hear death trailing like a hound Hard after him, and swift to bite.

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V. · Joaquin Miller · Poetry Cove