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1844–1911

WESTWARD.

Elizabeth Stuart Phelps

My thoughts like waves creep up, creep on, How patient is the sea! How shall we climb — the tide and I — Up to the hills and thee?

Were waters free as winds, to go Where mood or need might be, They could but find the sky, above The canyon as the sea.

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WESTWARD. · Elizabeth Stuart Phelps · Poetry Cove