By Herman Melville
About the Shark, phlegmatical one,
Pale sot of the Maldive sea,
The sleek little pilot-fish, azure and slim,
How alert in attendance be.
From his saw-pit of mouth, from his charnel of maw
They have nothing of harm to dread,
But liquidly glide on his ghastly flank
Or before his Gorgonian head;
Or lurk in the port of serrated teeth
In white triple tiers of glittering gates,
And there find a haven when peril’s abroad,
An asylum in jaws of the Fates!
They are friends; and friendly they guide him to prey,
Yet never partake of the treat—
Eyes and brains to the dotard lethargic and dull,
Pale ravener of horrible meat.
n/a
Poet Bio
More By This Poet
Shiloh: A Requiem (April, 1862)
Skimming lightly, wheeling still,
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Through the pause of night
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What do you know about magic? e1 asks.
E bends e old body down, turns
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I was either a child eating bugs
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now that I am older am I a man
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Someone once told...