Classic Poem

Out of the dusk, wind-blown and thin,
The shadowy woodboats gather in,
And twilight hushes the harbor's din, —
Sleep, little head, on my shoulder.

The gold lights wake through the evening grey
In the little village beside the bay,
And a few cold stars gleam far away, —
Sleep, little head, on my shoulder.

The sailor turns his face once more
Where his sweetheart waits at the opened door.
The lone light washes the wave-swept shore, —
Sleep, little head, on my shoulder.

Here where the dancing shadows swarm
Our driftwood fire is bright and warm;
Beyond our window wakes the storm.
Then sleep, little head, on my shoulder.