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1837–1913

XX.

Joaquin Miller

He saw. He could not speak. No more With lifted glass he sought the sea; No more he watched the wild new shore. Now foes might come, now friends might flee;

He could not speak, he would not stir,— He saw but her, he feared but her. The black ship ground against the shore, She ground against the bank as one

With long and weary journeys done, That would not rise to journey more. Yet still this Jason silent stood And gazed against that sun-lit wood,

As one whose soul is anywhere. All seemed so fair, so wondrous fair! At last aroused, he stepped to land Like some Columbus. They laid hand

On lands and fruits, and rested there.

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XX. · Joaquin Miller · Poetry Cove