s of Guiana dream of gold.
The wind seems to grow continually warmer; the spray feels warm like blood. Awnings have to be clewed up, and wind-sails taken in;--still, there are no white-caps,--only the enormous swells, too broad to see, as the ocean falls and rises like a dreamer's breast....
The sunset comes with a great burning yellow glow, fading up through faint greens to lose itself in violet light;--there is no gloaming. The days have already become shorter.... Through the open ports, as we lie down to sleep, comes a great whispering,--the whispering of the seas: sounds as of articulate speech under the breath,--as, of women telling secrets....
Fifth day out. Trade-winds from the south-east; a huge tumbling of mountain-purple waves;--the steamer careens under a full spread of canvas. There is a sense of spring in the wind to- day,--something that makes one think of the bourgeoning of Northern woods, when naked trees first cover themselves with a mist of tender gree
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