Sea-Song.

A dash of spray, A weed-browned way,— My ship's in the bay, In the glad blue bay,— The wind's from the west And the waves have a crest, But my bird's in the nest And my ship's in the bay! At dawn to stand Soft hand to hand, Bare feet on the sand,— On the hard brown sand,— To wait, dew-crowned, For the tarrying sound Of a keel that will ground On the scraping sand. A glad surprise In the wind-swept skies Of my wee one's eyes,— Those wondering eyes. He will come, my sweet, And will haste to meet Those hurrying feet And those sea-blue eyes. I know the day Must weary away, And my ship's in the bay,— In the clear, blue bay,— Ah! there's wind in the west, For the waves have a crest, But my bird's in the nest And my ship's in the bay!