ONE moment, to strictly run out by the sands -- Time, in the old way just to say the old saying -- Enough for your giving -- enough for my playing The hope of a life in your sinless white hands -- To call you my sweetheart, and ask you to be My fond little fairy and live by the sea! Five minutes -- ten -- twenty! but little to spare, Yet enough to repeat, in the homely old fashion, A story of true love, unfrenzied with passion -- To say, "Will you make my rough weather be fair, And give me each day your red cheek to be kissed? My dear one, my darling, my rose of the mist?" An half hour! -- would I dare say longer yet -- And the time (is so much you will yield to my wishes). When luck-thriven fishermen draw their last fishes, Whose silver sleek sides in the sea dripping net, And speckles of red gold, and scales thin and crisp, Through the fog-drizzle shine like a Will-o'-the-wisp. An hour! nay more -- until star after star Takes his watch while the west-wind through shadows thick falling, Holds parley, in moans, with the tide, outward crawling, And licking the long shaggy back of the bar, As if in lamenting some ship gone aground, Or sailor, love-lorn, in the dead waters drowned. Two hours! and not a hair's breadth from the grace Of your innocent trust would I any more vary Than rob of her lilies the virginal Mary; But just in my two hands would hold your fair face, And look in your dove-eyes, and ask you to be My good little housewife, and live by the sea! Till midnight! till morning! old Time has fleet wings, And the space will be brief, so my courage to steady, As say, "Who weds me may not be a fine lady With silk gowns to wear, and twenty gold rings, But with only a nest in the rocks, leaving me Her praises to sing as I sail on the sea." I would buy her a wheel, and some flax-wisps, and wool, So when the wild gusts of the winter were blowing, And poor little bird-nest half hid in the snowing, The time never need to be dreary nor dull -- But smiling the brighter, the darker the day, Her sunshine would scatter the shadows away. At eve, when the mist, like a shawl of fine lace, Wrapt her softly about, like a queen in her splendor, She still would sing over old sea-songs, so tender, To keep her in mind of her sailor's brown face -- Of his distance and danger, and make her to be His good little housewife content by the sea. Believe me, sweet sweetheart, they have but hard lives Who go down to sea in great ships, never knowing How soon cruel waves o'er their heads will be flowing And fatherless children, and true-hearted wives, The place of their dead never see, never know -- But the nest waits, my darling, ah! say, will you go? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE END OF THE PLAY by WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY WHEN I HEARD AT THE CLOSE OF THE DAY by WALT WHITMAN DIVIDED by WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE SPRING GLADNESS by JOHN BURROUGHS |