The wake of the Sea-Ship, after she passes--flashing and frolicsome, under the sun, A motley procession, with many a fleck of foam, and many fragments, Following the stately and rapid Ship--in the wake following. “Fog” by Carl Sandburg The fog comes on little cat feet. It sits looking over harbor and city on silent haunches and then moves on “Hope is the Thing with Feathers” by Emily Dickinson HOPE is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul, And sings the tune without the words, And never stops at all, And sweetest in the gale is heard; And sore must be the storm That could abash the little bird That kept so many warm. I ’ve heard it in the chillest land, And on the strangest sea; Yet, never, in extremity, It asked a crumb of me.
The wake of the Sea-Ship, after she passes--flashing and frolicsome, under the sun, A motley procession, with many a fleck of foam, and many fragments, Following the stately and rapid Ship--in the wake following. “Fog” by Carl Sandburg The fog comes on little cat feet. It sits looking over harbor and city on silent haunches and then moves on “Hope is the Thing with Feathers” by Emily Dickinson HOPE is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul, And sings the tune without the words, And never stops at all, And sweetest in the gale is heard; And sore must be the storm That could abash the little bird That kept so many warm. I ’ve heard it in the chillest land, And on the strangest sea; Yet, never, in extremity, It asked a crumb of me.
POETRYrevised2017.docx