Sidney Lanier

Macon / Georgia
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A Florida Sunday.

Rating: 2.7
From cold Norse caves or buccaneer Southern seas
Oft come repenting tempests here to die;
Bewailing old-time wrecks and robberies,
They shrive to priestly pines with many a sigh,
Breathe salutary balms through lank-lock'd hair
Of sick men's heads, and soon -- this world outworn --
Sink into saintly heavens of stirless air,
Clean from confessional. One died, this morn,
And willed the world to wise Queen Tranquil: she,
Sweet sovereign Lady of all souls that bide
In contemplation, tames the too bright skies
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COMMENTS
Oliver Samuel 27 August 2017
wow .
0 0 Reply
Brian Jani 29 April 2014
I like this poem, it's quite good
0 0 Reply

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