The Swimmers (George Sterling Poems)
We were eight fishers of the western sea,Who sailed our craft beside a barren land,Where harsh with pines the herdless ...
We were eight fishers of the western sea,Who sailed our craft beside a barren land,Where harsh with pines the herdless ...
Oh I marvellous the skies Ere sunset close Its rich, enormous rose, Or dawn, too late, Seem a supernal gateThat opens into midmost Paradise ...
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