Thou that dost thy Christmas keep Lonesome on the torrid deep, But in thy "Meteor" proudly sweep O'er the waves that vainly comb -- Of thee we think, To thee we drink, And drain the glass, my gallant Tom! Thou that, duty-led, dost roam Far from thy shepherd-brother's home -- Shearer of the ocean-foam! To whom one Christmas may not come, -- Of thee I think Till on its brink The glass shows tears, beloved Tom! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MARRIAGE by MARY ELIZABETH COLERIDGE COMMEMORATION ODE READ AT HARVARD UNIVERSITY by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL SONNET: 45 by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY THE SOBBING OF THE BELLS (MIDNIGHT, SEPT. 19-20, 1881) by WALT WHITMAN |