The gray sea and the long black land;And the yellow half-moon large and low:And the startled little waves that leap In fiery ringlets from their sleep,As I gain the cove with pushing prow,And quench its speed i' the slushy sand.Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach;Three fields to cross till a farm appears;A tap at the pane, the quick sharp scratch And blue spurt of a lighted match,And a voice less loud, through joys and fears,
Than the two hearts beating each to each