Sea-Song. A dash of spray, A weed-browned way,— My ship's in the bay, In the glad blue bay,— The wind's from the west And the waves have a crest, But my bird's in the nest And my ship's in the bay! At dawn to stand Soft hand to hand, Bare feet on the sand,— On the hard brown sand,— To wait, dew-crowned, For the tarrying sound Of a keel that will ground On the scraping sand. [Pg 43] A glad surprise In the wind-swept skies