Fishing is life for towns along the sea: The value of a season may be weighed In the new sheds and fences that are made And winters passed in full security. In a slack year all the community Stiffens to failure: and bills go unpaid, The men ship to the Indies, and dismayed The women wait on mutability. Here in the old smoke houses on the shore In lines of rose and silver, the fish swing Above the fires smouldering from the floor Their dripping brightness slowly tarnishing: They do not look like any treasure store Yet they shall keep a people until spring. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AUTUMN WOODS by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT TO A YOUNG ASS; ITS MOTHER BEING TETHERED NEAR IT by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE WALKING HOME AT NIGHT; HUSBAND TO WIFE by WILLIAM BARNES PSALM 54 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE MY WINDOW by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN DAY-DAWN IN ITALY by ANNE CHARLOTTE LYNCH BOTTA |