IN PORT
Wave buffeted and sick with storm,
The ships came reeling in,
The harbour lights were kind and warm,
And yet, so hard to win.
Like wings, the tired sails fluttered down,
While night began to fall,
Then came, sea-scarred, toward the town,
The smallest ship of all.
At last in harbour, safe and still,
No more she need be brave,
No more she’d meet the winds’ rough will,
The wanton of each wave.
The harbour lights! but where the moon
Should murmur blessings bright,
Clouded instead the dread typhoon,
That thundered down the night.
What curse the luring harbour bore
Of false security;
The port held desolation more
Than boasted all the sea.
When morning came with leering lip,
What death lay on her breast,
And oh! the little weary ship
Was wrecked with all the rest.
SONNY BOY
(A bust by H. F.)
Grave as a little god, erect and wise,
He dares the years that open to his gaze.
Brave in his charming beauty, he portrays
A bright eternal youth, and in his eyes
Sweet moons that are no more. No sad surprise
Has gloomed the gay adventure of his ways,
And from the flower-lit meadow of the days
He leaps clean-hearted to life’s enterprise.