The Haunted Hour - An Anthology by Various
page 73 of 244 (29%)
page 73 of 244 (29%)
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But still that never-wearied oar
Is heard on Tappan Zee. A moon is closed on Hudson's breast And lanterns gem the town; The phantom craft that may not rest Plies ever, up and down, 'Neath skies of blue and skies of gray, In spite of wind or tide, Until the trump of Judgment Day-- A sound--and naught beside. THE WHITE SHIPS AND THE RED: JOYCE KILMER With drooping sail and pennant That never a wind may reach, They float in sunless waters Beside a sunless beach. Their misty masts and funnels Are white as driven snow, And with a pallid radiance Their ghostly bulwarks glow. Here is a Spanish galleon That once with gold was gay, Here is a Roman trireme Whose hues outshone the day. But Tyrian dyes have faded, |
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