My little boat is in a bay,
It swings with gentle motion,
And there I lie and watch all day
The far-off, noisy ocean.
The ships go up, the ships go down,
And never see me spying.
They are the pride and fear of town—
Sails wide and colors flying.
They are so strong, they are so tall,
They fear no storm, no sorrow;
With brave eyes to the sun, they all
Set sail for some to-morrow.
Sometimes I long to range and roam,
My harbor life bewailing,
But little boats must bide at home,
To gayly speed the sailing.
XII
Rosa Mundi
O life that flowered at the very top of the tree,
Redder than all the roses out of the South,
This was the blossom colored and wrought for me,
Sweeter than scarlet bloom of a maiden’s mouth.
Fain would I climb, and fain would I reach the flower.
Ah, but the tree was tall as the flower was fair!
Weary I grew and slept through the noonday hour;
Winds caught my fate and strewed it over the air.