Daily Whitman



   [I]  The Pilot in the Mist

  Steaming the northern rapids—(an old St. Lawrence reminiscence,
  A sudden memory-flash comes back, I know not why,
  Here waiting for the sunrise, gazing from this hill;)
  Again 'tis just at morning—a heavy haze contends with daybreak,
  Again the trembling, laboring vessel veers me—I press through
      foam-dash'd rocks that almost touch me,
  Again I mark where aft the small thin Indian helmsman
  Looms in the mist, with brow elate and governing hand.


Posted on 20/09/2015, in literature, poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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