John William Inchbold
Comments about John William Inchbold
The lone parched land still yearns for later rains,
The hopeless exile for a sight of home,
Those ever suffering ask a change of pains,—
The sea itself, when lashed to constant foam,
Seems pleading drearily for signs of peace:—
Ah constant grey that covers all the sky!
Ah cruel bitter winds that will not cease!
Ah tearful painful life, that cannot die!
Since flushed and fancy-nursed with hope and fear,