Young was the dream that held her when

The world was moon-white with the May:

She watched the singing fishermen

Sail out to sea at break of day:

Soft, as the morning heavens then,

The eyes that watched him sail away.

Old was her grief when summer filled

The world with warm maturity:

Far off she watched the nets that spilled

Their twinkling foison by the sea:

Where on the rocks she sat and stilled

With song his infant on her knee.

Who to her love would make them lies—

Those vows his sea-slain manhood swore?

Beneath the raining autumn skies

The fishing vessels put to shore:

She watches with remembering eyes

For the brown face that comes no more.