Skip to content
1837–1913

XIII.

Joaquin Miller

At last a tall strange sail was seen: It came so slow, so wearily, Came creeping cautious up the sea, As if it crept from out between

The half-closed sea and sky that lay Tight wedged together, far away. She watched it, wooed it. She did pray It might not pass her by, but bring

Some love, some hate, some anything, To break the awful loneliness That like a nightly nightmare lay Upon her proud and pent-up soul

Until it barely brooked control.

Cookies on Poetry Cove

We use cookies to remember your language preference and — only with your consent — to learn how Poetry Cove is used. You can change your mind any time.
XIII. · Joaquin Miller · Poetry Cove