Whether my bark went down at sea,
Whether she met with gales,
Whether to isles enchanted
She bent her docile sails;
By what mystic mooring
She is held to-day, —
This is the errand of the eye
Out upon the bay.
First print Life XXIV
Johnson 52 | Franklin 33
The text may be used under any of the following licenses:
CREATIVE COMMONS LICENSE 4.0, BY-SA 3.0, and LICENSE 2.5.
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