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| A MILE behind is Gloucester town | |
| Where the fishing fleets put in, | |
| A mile ahead the land dips down | |
| And the woods and farms begin. | |
| Here, where the moors stretch free | 5 |
| In the high blue afternoon, | |
| Are the marching sun and talking sea, | |
| And the racing winds that wheel and flee | |
| On the flying heels of June. | |
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| Jill-o’er-the-ground is purple blue, | 10 |
| Blue is the quaker-maid, | |
| The wild geranium holds its dew | |
| Long in the boulder’s shade. | |
| Wax-red hangs the cup | |
| From the huckleberry boughs, | 15 |
| In barberry bells the grey moths sup | |
| Or where the choke-cherry lifts high up | |
| Sweet bowls for their carouse. | |
| |
| Over the shelf of the sandy cove | |
| Beach-peas blossom late. | 20 |
| By copse and cliff the swallows rove | |
| Each calling to his mate. | |
| Seaward the sea-gulls go, | |
| And the land-birds all are here; | |
| That green-gold flash was a vireo, | 25 |
| And yonder flame where the marsh-flags grow | |
| Was a scarlet tanager. | |
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| This earth is not the steadfast place | |
| We landsmen build upon; | |
| From deep to deep she varies pace, | 30 |
| And while she comes is gone. | |
| Beneath my feet I feel | |
| Her smooth bulk heave and dip; | |
| With velvet plunge and soft upreel | |
| She swings and steadies to her keel | 35 |
| Like a gallant, gallant ship. | |
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| These summer clouds she sets for sail, | |
| The sun is her masthead light, | |
| She tows the moon like a pinnace frail | |
| Where her phosphor wake churns bright. | 40 |
| Now hid, now looming clear, | |
| On the face of the dangerous blue | |
| The star fleets tack and wheel and veer, | |
| But on, but on does the old earth steer | |
| As if her port she knew. | 45 |
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| God, dear God! Does she know her port, | |
| Though she goes so far about? | |
| Or blind astray, does she make her sport | |
| To brazen and chance it out? | |
| I watched when her captains passed: | 50 |
| She were better captainless. | |
| Men in the cabin, before the mast, | |
| But some were reckless and some aghast, | |
| And some sat gorged at mess. | |
| |
| By her battened hatch I leaned and caught | 55 |
| Sounds from the noisome hold,— | |
| Cursing and sighing of souls distraught | |
| And cries too sad to be told. | |
| Then I strove to go down and see; | |
| But they said. “Thou art not of us!” | 60 |
| I turned to those on the deck with me | |
| And cried, “Give help!” But they said, “Let be: | |
| Our ship sails faster thus.” | |
| |
| Jill-o’er-the-ground is purple blue, | |
| Blue is the quaker-maid, | 65 |
| The alder-clump where the brook comes through | |
| Breeds cresses in its shade. | |
| To be out of the moiling street | |
| With its swelter and its sin! | |
| Who has given to me this sweet, | 70 |
| And given my brother dust to eat? | |
| And when will his wage come in? | |
| |
| Scattering wide or blown in ranks, | |
| Yellow and white and brown, | |
| Boats and boats from the fishing banks | 75 |
| Come home to Gloucester town. | |
| There is cash to purse and spend, | |
| There are wives to be embraced, | |
| Hearts to borrow and hearts to lend, | |
| And hearts to take and keep to the end,— | 80 |
| O little sails, make haste! | |
| |
| But thou, vast outbound ship of souls, | |
| What harbor town for thee? | |
| What shapes, when thy arriving tolls, | |
| Shall crowd the banks to see? | 85 |
| Shall all the happy shipmates then | |
| Stand singing brotherly? | |
| Or shall a haggard ruthless few | |
| Warp her over and bring her to, | |
| While the many broken souls of men | 90 |
| Fester down in the slaver’s pen, | |
| And nothing to say or do? | |
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