| |
| GOD, dear God! Does she know her port, | |
| Though she goes so far about? | |
| Or blind astray, does she make her sport | |
| To brazen and chance it out? | |
| I watched when her captains passed: | 5 |
| She were better captainless. | |
| Men in the cabin, before the mast, | |
| But some were reckless and some aghast, | |
| And some sat gorged at mess. | |
| |
| By her battened hatch I leaned and caught | 10 |
| Sounds from the noisome hold,— | |
| Cursing and sighing of souls distraught | |
| And cries too sad to be told. | |
| Then I strove to go down and see; | |
| But they said, “Thou art not of us!” | 15 |
| I turned to those on the deck with me | |
| And cried, “Give help!” But they said, “Let be: | |
| Our ship sails faster thus.” | |
| |
| Jill-o’er-the-ground is purple blue, | |
| Blue is the quaker-maid, | 20 |
| The alder-clump where the brook comes through | |
| Breeds cresses in its shade. | |
| To be out of the moiling street, | |
| With its swelter and its sin! | |
| Who has given to me this sweet, | 25 |
| And given my brother dust to eat? | |
| And when will his wage come in? | |
| |
