Ben, with his tangled, nut-brown hair,
Bess, with her sweet face flushed and fair.
Rolling in from the briny deep,
Nearer, nearer, the great waves creep,
Higher, higher, upon the sands,
Reaching out with their giant hands,
Grasping the boat in boisterous glee,
Tossing it up and out to sea.
The sun went down, ’mid clouds of gold;
Night came, with footsteps damp and cold;