Songs of the Mexican Seas

He peered as if to pierce the wood. He now looked back, as if pursued, Now swept the sea with glass, as though He fled or feared some hidden foe.

Swift sailing up the river's mouth, Swift tacking north, swift tacking south, He touched the overhanging wood; He tacked his ship; his tall black mast Touched tree-top mosses as he passed; He touched the steep shore where she stood.