II. THE SAILOR

By Michael Earls

A sailor that rides the ocean wave,

And I in my room at home:

Where are the seas I fear to brave,

Or the lands I may not roam?

At the attic window I take my stand,

And tighten the curtain sail,

Then, ahoy! I ride the leagues of land,

Whether in calm or gale.

Tree at anchor along the road

Bow as I speed along;

At sunny brooks in the valley I load

Cargoes of blossom and song;

Stories I take on the passing wind

From the plains and forest seas,

And the Golden Fleece I yet will find,

And the fruit of Hesperides.

Steady I keep my watchful eyes,

As I range the thousand miles,

Till evening tides in western skies

Turn gold the cloudland isles;

Then fast is the hatch and dark the screen,

And I bring my cabin light;

With a wink I change to a submarine

And drop in the sea of Night.