Explore "Victory" by Francis Sherman on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Because your strife and labour have been vain, / Ye who have striven, shall I forego, forget / The far-off goal where to my feet were set / In the old days when life was first made plain?
Upward in April, who, meeting with the rain, / Did turn, the first shy mayflowers still are met?
I who have sought, yea, who am seeking yet, / What pain have I like unto your sore pain?
So let me go as one yearning, that braves, / With shipmen that have knowledge of the sea, / The wind disastrous and the ponderous waves / (Because his love dwells in some far countree), / Crying, "Not one of all your million graves / Is deep enough to keep my love from me! "