There blossomed into golden day another rosy morn: <br />The ship-wrecked sailor woke, and watched again, of hope forlorn, <br />From his high, purple-misted peak, a rag about his hip: <br />His only dream, his native land - his only prayer, a ship! <br />The fringe of surf laced in and out along the shell-strewn shore; <br />Beside the reef strange creatures sailed plying a sentient oar, <br />And, great and wide, the sea rolled far in azure distant dim <br />And laved the edges of the sky with its blue-washing rim. <br />The sailor thought of paven streets in a far smoky town <br />Where day and night the cable-cars went booming up and down: <br />Each little common thought of men smote through him like a dart, <br />And memories of a woman winged like white birds through his heart.<br /><br />Harry Kemp<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-shipwrecked-sailor/
