Robert Seymour Bridges

A Passer-by – Robert Seymour Bridges

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, nor 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 thoù... »