Long the eastern beaches,
Where brown the seaweed grows,
And over broad salt meadows,
The green tide ebbs and flows.
Above the low-roofed houses,
Two ancient towers rise,
And stand like giant druids,
Against the wind-swept skies.
Through mist or rain or sunshine,
Their prows festooned with foam,
The fishing-boats go outward
Or laden, turn them home.
She watches by the window,
And tearless are her eyes;
She sees not church or tower,
Or sea or wind-swept skies.
She sees not tide or tempest,
Or sun or mist or rain;
Afar her spirit wanders
Upon the Belgian plain.
Where over shell-scarred cities
The mad, red tempest raves,
And poplars sigh and shudder
Above unnumbered graves.
Hidden Treasure
Sun-browned boy with the wondering eyes,
Do you see the blue of the summer skies?
Do you hear the song of the drowsy stream,
As it winds by the shore where the birches gleam?
Then come, come away
From the shadowy bay,
And we'll drift with the stream where the rapids play;
For we are two pirates, fierce and bold,
And we'll capture the hoard of the morning's gold.
A roving craft is our red canoe,
O pirate chief with the eyes of blue;
So hoist your flag with the skull on high,
And out we'll sail where the treasures lie.
For in days of old
Came pirates bold,
a Spanish galleon's captured gold;
And their boat was wrecked on the river strand
And its treasures strewn on the silver sand.