Oh, poor were the worth of the world
    If never a song were heard,—­
  If the sting of grief had no relief,
    And never a heart were stirred.

  So, long as the streams run down,
    And as long as the robins trill,
  Let us taunt old Care with a merry air,
    And sing in the face of ill.

THE MYSTIC SEA

  The smell of the sea in my nostrils,
    The sound of the sea in mine ears;
  The touch of the spray on my burning face,
    Like the mist of reluctant tears.

  The blue of the sky above me,
    The green of the waves beneath;
  The sun flashing down on a gray-white sail
    Like a scimitar from its sheath.

  And ever the breaking billows,
    And ever the rocks’ disdain;
  And ever a thrill in mine inmost heart
    That my reason cannot explain.

  So I say to my heart, “Be silent,
    The mystery of time is here;
  Death’s way will be plain when we fathom the main,
    And the secret of life be clear.”

A SAILOR’S SONG

  Oh for the breath of the briny deep,
  And the tug of the bellying sail,
  With the sea-gull’s cry across the sky
  And a passing boatman’s hail. 
  For, be she fierce or be she gay,
  The sea is a famous friend alway.

  Ho! for the plains where the dolphins play,
  And the bend of the mast and spars,
  And a fight at night with the wild sea-sprite
  When the foam has drowned the stars. 
  And, pray, what joy can the landsman feel
  Like the rise and fall of a sliding keel?

  Fair is the mead; the lawn is fair
  And the birds sing sweet on the lea;
  But the echo soft of a song aloft
  Is the strain that pleases me;
  And swish of rope and ring of chain
  Are music to men who sail the main.

  Then, if you love me, let me sail
  While a vessel dares the deep;
  For the ship ’s my wife, and the breath of life
  Are the raging gales that sweep;
  And when I ’m done with calm and blast,
  A slide o’er the side, and rest at last.

THE BOHEMIAN

  Bring me the livery of no other man. 
    I am my own to robe me at my pleasure. 
    Accepted rules to me disclose no treasure: 
  What is the chief who shall my garments plan? 
    No garb conventional but I ’ll attack it. 
    (Come, why not don my spangled jacket?)

ABSENCE

  Good-night, my love, for I have dreamed of thee
  In waking dreams, until my soul is lost—­
  Is lost in passion’s wide and shoreless sea,
  Where, like a ship, unruddered, it is tost
  Hither and thither at the wild waves’ will. 
  There is no potent Master’s voice to still
  This newer, more tempestuous Galilee!