Songs of the Sea Children

by Bliss Carman




The fishers are sailing; the fleet is away; 
The rowlocks are throbbing at break of day.

The cables are creaking; the sails are unfurled;
The red sun is over the rim of the world.

The first summer hour is white on the hill;


The sails in the harbour-mouth belly and fill,— 

Each boat putting out with the breast of a gull
For the mighty great deep that shall rock them and lull.

There, there, they all pass out of sight one by one,—
Gleam, dazzle, and sink in the path of the sun,—


The last tiny speck to melt out and be free 
As a roseleaf of cloud on the rim of the sea.