 | The Complete Poetical Works of Robert Buchanan |  |
THE FISHERMAN.
The sea is moaning, the little one cries,
In child-bed sorrow the Mother lies,
And the Fisher fisheth afar away
In the morning gray.
In child-bed sorrow the Mother lies,
And the Fisher fisheth afar away
In the morning gray.
The drift is dark as the dawn appears:
Is it the moan of the wind he hears—
Is it the splash of the ocean foam,
Or a cry from home?
Is it the moan of the wind he hears—
Is it the splash of the ocean foam,
Or a cry from home?
He fisheth there that the babe may eat—
The wind is whistling in shroud and sheet;
He looketh down from the side of his bark
On the waters dark.
The wind is whistling in shroud and sheet;
He looketh down from the side of his bark
On the waters dark.
Sees he the gleam of the foam-flake there,
Or a white, white face in its floating hair?—
Sea-weeds salt that are shoreward drifted,
Or arms uplifted?
Or a white, white face in its floating hair?—
Sea-weeds salt that are shoreward drifted,
Or arms uplifted?
His heart is heavy, his lips are set,
He sighs as he draggeth in his net—
A goodly gift from the waters wild
To Mother and Child!
He sighs as he draggeth in his net—
A goodly gift from the waters wild
To Mother and Child!
The Dawn gleams cold as he homeward flies
The boat is laden, the new born cries,
But the wraith of the mother fades far away
In the morning gray!
The boat is laden, the new born cries,
But the wraith of the mother fades far away
In the morning gray!
| The Complete Poetical Works of Robert Buchanan | |