Daily Whitman



[VI]  Proudly the Flood Comes In

  Proudly the flood comes in, shouting, foaming, advancing,
  Long it holds at the high, with bosom broad outswelling,
  All throbs, dilates—the farms, woods, streets of cities—workmen at work,
  Mainsails, topsails, jibs, appear in the offing—steamers' pennants
      of smoke—and under the forenoon sun,
  Freighted with human lives, gaily the outward bound, gaily the
      inward bound,
  Flaunting from many a spar the flag I love.

Posted on 25/09/2015, in literature, poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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