Classic Poem

— — " Is it a sail? " she asked.
" No, " I said.
" Only a white sea-gull with its pinions spread. "

— — " Is it a spar? " she asked.
" No, " said I.
" Only the slender light-house tower against the sky. "

— — " Flutters a pennant there? "
" No, " I said.
" Only a shred of cloud in the sunset red. "

— — " Surely a hull, a hull! "
" Where? " I cried.
" Only a rock half-bared by the ebbing tide. "

— — " Wait you a ship? " I asked.
" Aye! " quoth she.
" The Harbor Belle; her mate comes home to marry me.

— — " Surely the good ship hath
Met no harm? "
Was it the west wind wailed or the babe on her arm?

— — " The Harbor Belle! " she urged.
Naught said I. —
For I knew o'er the grave o' the Harbor Belle the sea-gulls fly.