The boat is gaping in each seam,
The worn-out planks are old and rotten.
With two small oars they work and strain,
A long mile from the nearer shore
They cease—their efforts are in vain;
She's sinking fast, and all is o'er.
The yellow water, thick as pap,
Is crawling, crawling to the thwarts,
And as they mark its upward lap,