They call to me; incessantly they beat
Along the boat from stem to curvèd prow.
Comes the careering wind, blows back my hair
All damp with dew, to kiss me unaware,—
Murmuring, "Thee I love,"—and passes on.
Sweet sounds on rocky shores the distant rote.
Oh, could we float forever, little boat,
Under the blissful sky drifting alone!
LIFE IN THE OPEN AIR.
BY THE AUTHOR OF "CECIL DREEME" AND "JOHN BRENT."