BY THE SEA.
Blue is the mist on the mountains,
White is the fog on the sea,
Ruby and gold is the sunset—
And Bertha is waiting for me.
Down on the lonesome sand beach,
Her eyes as blue as the mist,
Her brow as white as the sea-fog—
Bertha, whose lips I have kissed.
Bertha, whose lips are like rubies,
Whose hair is like coiled gold,
Whose sweet, rare smile is tenderer
Than any legend of old.
One morn, one noon, one sunset,
Must pass before we meet;
O wind and sail bear steady on,
And bring me to her feet.
The morn rose pale and sullen,
The noon was still and dun;
Across the storm at sunset,
Came the boom of a signal-gun.
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