All night the lapsing rivers lisp in the long dike grass,

And many memories whisper the sea-winds as they pass;

The tides disturb the silence; but not a hindrance bars

The wash of time, where founder even the galleon stars.

And all night long wherever the moving waters gleam,

The little hills hearken, hearken, the great hills hear and dream.

THE NANCY'S PRIDE

On the long slow heave of a lazy sea,