Frank Wilmot (6 April 1881 - 22 February 1942 / Collingwood, Melbourne)
The Last Port
I WROUGHT and battled and wept, near and afar
I scanned the secret of the bud and star.
Hill-road and desert, and the hurrying street
Know well the impress of my restless feet!
Then some one came with soft, caressing glance,
Slow, like a woman out of all romance.
Love closed around me these warm, folded wings—
That was the end of all my wanderings.
Comments about this poem (The Last Port by Frank Wilmot )
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