Meeting at Night

…from the quills of the dead white poets

 Robert Browning (1812 – 1889)

 The grey sea and the long black land;

And the yellow half-moon large and low;

And the startled little waves that leap

In fiery ringlets from their sleep,

As I gain the cove with pushing prow,

And quench its speed i’ the slushy sand.

Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach;

Three fields to cross till a farm appears;

A tap at the pane, the quick sharp scratch

And a blue spurt of a lighted match,

And voices less loud, thro’ its joys and fears,

Than two hearts beating each to each!

About Avadoro Worden

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