Maiden Fair
No sternward glance to swift retreating bay
she lifts her face to kiss the crisp blue sky
as rearing high, with anchor firm aweigh
her eager painted gaze bids no goodbye
but woos in joy each drumming wind-filled shroud
'fore plunging down to plumb the cold dark sea
then breached in foam, uplifts the bow-sprit proud
with streams of briny tears her sad esprit.
In golden flowers clad for ocean flight
her oaken breasts caressed by wind and spray
my helmsman's guide, my compass through the night
yet dolphin's shadow dancer by the day.
And when our ship be wrecked by storm and reef
this Maiden fair shall bear no guilt or grief.