An Old Lover
Whenever he would talk to us of ships,
Old schooners lost, or tall ships under weigh,
The god of speech was neighbour to his lips,
A lover's grace on words he loved to say.
He called them by their names, and you could see
Spars in the sun, keels, and their curling foam;
And all his mind was like a morning quay
Of ships gone out, and ships come gladly home.
He filled the bay with sails we had not seen:
The Marguerita L., "a maid for shape,"
The slender Kay, the worthy Island Queen,--
That was his own, he lost her off the Cape,
"She was a ship"--and then he looked away,
And talked to us no more of ships that day.
Old schooners lost, or tall ships under weigh,
The god of speech was neighbour to his lips,
A lover's grace on words he loved to say.
He called them by their names, and you could see
Spars in the sun, keels, and their curling foam;
And all his mind was like a morning quay
Of ships gone out, and ships come gladly home.
He filled the bay with sails we had not seen:
The Marguerita L., "a maid for shape,"
The slender Kay, the worthy Island Queen,--
That was his own, he lost her off the Cape,
"She was a ship"--and then he looked away,
And talked to us no more of ships that day.
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