For while the tired waves, vainly breaking, Seem here no painful inch to gain, Far back, through creeks and inlets making, Comes silent, flooding in, the main. And not by eastern windows only, When daylight comes, comes in the light;… — Arthur Hugh Clough Copy Share Image
In front, the sun climbs slow, how slowly, but westward, look, the land is bright. — Arthur Hugh Clough Copy Share Image
