When against the window-pane tap the fingers of the rain,
An ill rain, a chill rain, dripping from the eaves,
When the farmers haul their logs and the marsh is whisht with fogs,
And the wind sighs like an old man, brushing withered leaves;
When the Summertime is gone and the Winter creeping on,
The doleful Northern winter of snow and sleet and hail,
Then I smell the salty brine and I see you, ship o' mine,
Bowling through the sunshine under all plain sail.
I can see you, Lady love, the Trade clouds strung above,
White clouds, bright clouds, flocking South with you;
Like snowy lily buds are the flowery foaming suds
That bloom about your forefoot as you tread the meadows blue.
Oh the diamond Southern Cross! Oh the wheeling albatross!
Oh the shoals of silver flying-fish that skim beside the rail!
Though my body's in the North still my heart goes faring forth
Bowling through the sunshine under all plain sail.
C. H. BRETHERTON.
Dec. 6, 1916.