10
a sea glimpse.
Tar-grimed and weather-stained,
The sailors shout from her deck:
Naught of the sky blue-veined,
Or the dreamy waves they reck.
The sailors shout from her deck:
Naught of the sky blue-veined,
Or the dreamy waves they reck.
And the sunburnt girl, who stands
Where her feet on the wet wrack slip,
Eyes shaded with lithe, brown hands,—
She sees but the coming ship.
Where her feet on the wet wrack slip,
Eyes shaded with lithe, brown hands,—
She sees but the coming ship.
