by Arthur Crew Inman
On the silver crest of the ocean's breast,
With the winds of rare delight,
My ship and I like sea-wraiths fly
To the surge of a tropic night.
On the silver crest of the lustred west,
Like the dance of a far-flung tune,
We cleave a way of star-struck spray
On our path to the fairy moon.
Last updated May 08, 2023