Менелла Бьют Смедли (Menella Bute Smedley)

The Fisherman

Fisherman, speak to me; why so lonely
Sailing away when the boats come home?
“I have a little one, I must find him,
Out where the sunset kindles the foam.
“Dying he talked to the wild green water,
Out of his window he watched the spray;
How should the daisies have power to keep him?
Somewhere the sea-gulls watch him at play.
“Empty and cold is the shore without him,
Empty and dry must it ever be;
Let me alone, for the sea consoles me,
Out in the waters he waits for me.
“Empty and cold is the house without him,
Empty and dark through the open door;
Will he not laugh when he hears me coming,
Coming to carry him home once more!”
Bars of wet sunshine the boat sprang over,
Shaking her sails into sheets of gold;
Back through the moonlight she drifted darkly,
Rocking at random, empty and cold.

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