Driftwood

When the dark days come, and it is late November, When sea-fog is curling in across the old sea-wall,— Then Mother lights the driftwood we found in September And piled up in the fireplace out in the hall.

It burns green and violet with bright orange spangles, While twilight wrapped in gauzy mist dims each window pane; The little flames flash in and out in wild blue tangles, And we children gather round to roast chestnuts again.

Then Nicholas says sometimes: "What are you seeing, Dickie, Where the coals are like garnets, and the little flames dance?" And Dick says: "flames like flowers. I just see flames, Nickie." Then Bill frowns: "No like feathers. Or pointed like a lance."

And Betty nods: "Yes, every flame's a flower or a feather." But Gwyn gaily tosses back her mop of red hair, And laughs: "It's only salty wood, seasoned by sea weather It sparkles when it burns. And that's all there is there."

Then Nicholas laughs too, and says: "I see a tower!— So hark ye! Hark ye! Ye lustreless small fry! I see a castle and a lady in her bower— A draw-bridge, and a moat, and a flag flying high.

"And—by my Halidom! A knight I see riding— Look! Look! The lady waves to him her lily-white hand. Me-thinks, very like, she is tired of abiding Aloft on the turret when her true Knight is on land!"

Then all the others cry: "O Nick it's just your fancy! There are no pictures in the driftwood fire at all." So at last he turns to me. "Don't you see them Nancy? The Knight, and the Lady on the battlemented wall?"

O just to see what Nicholas sees is my one desire;— But I think he is a poet, and far different from me, For all I can find when I gaze into the fire Is an old grey ship sailing on the waves at sea.