Page:The Single Hound; poems of a lifetime.djvu/63

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THE SINGLE HOUND.
31

XXIX.


DOWN Time's quaint stream
Without an oar,
We are enforced to sail,
Our Port—a secret—
Our Perchance—a gale.
What Skipper would
Incur the risk,
What Buccaneer would ride,
Without a surety from the wind
Or schedule of the tide?