A PASSER BY- ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES Whither, O splendid ship, thy white sails crowding, Leaning across the bosom of the urgent West, That fearest nor sea rising, not sky clouding, Whither away, fair rover, and what thy quest? Ah! soon, when Winter has all our vales opprest. When skies are cold and misty, and hail is hurling, Wilt thou glide on the blue Pacific, or rest In summer haven asleep, thy white sails furling? I there before thee, in the country that well thou knowest, Already arrived am inhaling the odorous air: I watch thee enter unerringly where thou goest, And anchor queen of the strange shipping there, Thy sails for awnings spread, thy masts bare; Nor is aught from the foaming reef to the snow-capped, grandest Peak, that is over the feathery palms more fair Than thou, so upright, so stately, and still thou standest. And yet, O splendid ship, unhailed and nameless, I know not if, aiming a fancy, I rightly divine That thou ha...
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