Classic Poem

Why do you not steer straight, my love, she cried:
The wind makes steady your way, favours the tide:
The boat obeys the helm, were you now to steer
Courageous, our troubles and doubts would vanish here.

And cassia and pearls would pack your hold,
And your returning act crown manifold
Our upward course, and not a thing to desire . . .
The rudder swang in the tide, and we beached in the mire.