By The Fireside

Is all our fire of shipwreck wood, Oak and pine? Oh, for the ills half-understood, The dim dead woe Long ago Befallen this bitter coast of France! Well, poor sailors took their chance; I take mine.

A ruddy shaft our fire must shoot O'er the sea: Do sailors eye the casement--mute Drenched and stark, From their bark-- And envy, gnash their teeth for hate O' the warm safe house and happy freight --Thee and me?

God help you, sailors, at your need! Spare the curse! For some ships, safe in port indeed, Rot and rust, Run to dust, All through worms i' the wood, which crept, Gnawed our hearts out while we slept: That is worse.

Who lived here before us two? Old-world pairs. Did a woman ever--would I knew!-- Watch the man With whom began Love's voyage full-sail,--(now gnash your teeth!) When planks start, open hell beneath Unawares?