ON my northwest coast in the midst of the night, a fishermen's group
stands watching;
Out on the lake, that expands before them, others are spearing
salmon;
The canoe, a dim shadowy thing, moves across the black water,
Bearing a Torch a-blaze at the prow.
More verses by Walt Whitman
- To A Locomotive In Winter
- The Prairie States
- Weave In, Weave In, My Hardy Life
- To A Common Prostitute
- To One Shortly To Die