Explore "The Dawn Patrol" by Paul Bewsher on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Sometimes I fly at dawn above the sea, / Where, underneath, the restless waters flow -- / Silver, and cold, and slow. / Dim in the East there burns a new-born sun, / Whose rosy gleams along the ripples run, / Save where the mist droops low, / Hiding the level loneliness from me.
And now appears beneath the milk-white haze / A little fleet of anchored ships, which lie / In clustered company, / And seem as they are yet fast bound by sleep, / Although the day has long begun to peep, / With red-inflamed eye, / Along the still, deserted ocean ways.