The wind blows cold and the wind blow keen,
And the dreary wintry sleet is falling;
And ever the sand-dunes, white, between
The Ocean voice is calling.
Calls with the sound that the sailor fears;
And the gulls. Low-flying, hasten in,
And the bent boughs shiver in fringe of tears
While the long night hours begin.
But over the path thro’ the Golden Door,
Where the troubled billows roam and flee,
Bonita’s Light from its rocky shore
Shines out to the ships at sea.
(Ina Donna Coolbrith)
More Poetry from Ina Donna Coolbrith:
Ina Donna Coolbrith Poems based on Topics: Fear- California (Ina Donna Coolbrith Poems)
- From Living Waters (Ina Donna Coolbrith Poems)
- The Captive Of The White City (Ina Donna Coolbrith Poems)
- The Singer Of The Sea (Ina Donna Coolbrith Poems)
- Lucifer (Ina Donna Coolbrith Poems)
- Le Chemin De L'ecole (Ina Donna Coolbrith Poems)
Readers Who Like This Poem Also Like:
Based on Topics: Fear PoemsBased on Keywords: sand-dunes, low-flying, bonita