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Poem by Clinton Scollard A Sailor Amid the Hills What does he hear in dreams? The surging wind, Its long-drawn cadence, its wild harmony, A mighty harp of infinite strings designed, Whose sound to him seems sweet immeasurably? Nay, nay, but through the spaces of his mind, Plangent or pleading, loud or low-defined, The ever-haunting murmur of the sea! Clinton Scollard Clinton Scollard's other poems: 1193 Views |
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