THE TRAMP-SHIP Sailing over summer seas, Seeking ports of rest, Dancing with the dancing breeze, Host and guest. Calmed beside the setting sun, Lifeless on the deep, Waiting till the halt be done And the sleep. Driving 'gainst the sullen storm, Striking hard the foe, Gallant heart and gallant form Breast the snow. Homeward, homeward in the years, All thy pennons fly; Bravely onward, smiles and tears, Home to die. July, 1911. PILOT AND CLOUDS Clouds, little clouds, tell me whither are you going to, Spun by the sun of the shearing of the sea? "Thither we are bound, where the West Wind is blowing to, Off on a holiday, merrymakers we." Clouds, merry clouds, will you wait till I may fly to you, Share in the frolic of your gay company? "Nay, for the West Wind bids us say good-bye to you, Save if your chariot be speedier than he." Swift are my steeds: at the thunderous career of them The high, lone silences that cradle you will flee. "Think you our hilarity will tremble at the fear of them, We who laugh in thunder and lighten in our glee?" Then will I fly to you, dance with you, play with you, Hover on your breast where the shadow cannot be. "Hurry, brother, hurry, for we may not delay with you, Off on a holiday, merrymakers we."
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