As flying fish took wing; the breakfast passed,
Wasting good time, but he was free at last.
Free for two hours and more to tingle deep,
Catching a likeness in a line or tint,
The canvas running up in a proud sweep,
Wind-wrinkled at the clews, and white like lint,
The glittering of the blue waves into glint;
Free to attempt it all, the proud ship's pawings,
The sea, the sky--he went to fetch his drawings.
Up to the deck-house top he quickly climbed,