WHEN by the fire we sit with hand in hand, My spirit seems to watch beside your knee, Alert and eager at your least command To do your bidding over earth and sea; You sigh -- and of that dubious message fain, I scour the world to bring you what you lack, Till, from some island of the spicy main, The pressure of your fingers calls me back: You smile, -- and I, who love to be your slave, Post round the orb at your fantastic will, Though, while my fancy skims the laughing wave, My hand lies happy in your hand, and still; Nor more from fortune or from life would crave Than that dear silent service to fulfil. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SLAVE TRADE: VIEW FROM THE MIDDLE PASSAGE by CLARENCE MAJOR TIME TO BE WISE by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR FIRST FIG by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY IKE WALTON'S PRAYER by JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY SONNET: 61 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE ASTROPHEL AND STELLA: 71 by PHILIP SIDNEY ESCAPE AT BEDTIME by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON |