Explore "Low Tide on Grand Pré: A Book of Lyrics" by Bliss Carman on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
There is dust upon my fingers, / Pale gray dust of beaten wings, / Where a great moth came and settled / From the night's blown winnowings.
Harvest with her low red planets / Wheeling over Arrochar; / And the lonely hopeless calling / Of the bell-buoy on the bar,