| The gray sea and the long black land; |
| And the yellow half-moon large and low; |
| And the startled little waves that leap |
| In fiery ringlets from their sleep, |
| As I gain the cove with pushing prow, |
And quench its speed i' the slushy sand.
|
| Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach; |
| Three fields to cross till a farm appears; |
| A tap at the pane, the quick sharp scratch |
| And blue spurt of a lighted match, |
| And a voice less loud, through its joys and
fears, |
Then the two hearts beating each to each!
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