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.
The Torch
Walt Whitman
(1)
Poem topics: night, water, black, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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