PORTRAIT OF A BOY

After the whipping, he crawled into bed;

Accepting the harsh fact with no great weeping.
How funny uncle's hat had looked striped red!
He chuckled silently. The moon came, sweeping
A black frayed rag of tattered cloud before
In scorning; very pure and pale she seemed,
Flooding his bed with radiance. On the floor

Fat motes danced. He sobbed; closed his eyes and dreamed

Warm sand flowed round him. Blurts of crimson light Splashed the white grains like blood. Past the cave's mouth

Shone with a large fierce splendor, wildly bright,

The crooked constellations of the South;

Here the Cross swung; and there, affronting Mars,
The Centaur stormed aside a froth of stars.
Within, great casks like wattled aldermen
Sighed of enormous feasts, and cloth of gold
Glowed on the walls like hot desire. Again,
Beside webbed purples from some galleon's hold,
A black chest bore the skull and bones in white
Above a scrawled "Gunpowder!" By the flames,
Decked out in crimson, gemmed with syenite,
Hailing their fellows by outrageous names

The pirates sat and diced. Their eyes were moons.
"Doubloons!" they said.

"Doubloons!"

The words crashed gold.

Stephen Vincent Benèt

OH FAIR ENOUGH ARE SKY AND PLAIN

Oh fair enough are sky and plain,

But I know fairer far:
Those are as beautiful again

That in the water are;

The pools and rivers wash so clean
The trees and clouds and air,
The like on earth was never seen,
And oh that I were there.

These are the thoughts I often think
As I stand gazing down

In act upon the cressy brink

To strip and dive and drown;

But in the golden-sanded brooks
And azure meres I

spy

A silly lad that longs and looks

And wishes he were I.

- A. E. Housman

CHRISTMAS AT SEA

The sheets were frozen hard, and they cut the naked hand; The decks were like a slide, where a seaman scarce could

stand;

The wind was a nor'wester, blowing squally off the sea;
And cliffs and spouting breakers were the only things a-lee.
They heard the surf a-roaring before the break of day;
But 'twas only with the peep of light we saw how ill we lay.
We tumbled every hand on deck instanter, with a shout,
And we gave her the maintops'l, and stood by to go about.

All day we tacked and tacked between the South Head and

the North;

All day we hauled the frozen sheets, and got no further

forth;

All day as cold as charity, in bitter pain and dread,

For very life and nature we tacked from head to head.

We gave the South a wider berth, for there the tide-race roared;

But every tack we made brought the North Head close aboard:

So's we saw the cliffs and houses, and the breakers running high,

And the coastguard in his garden, with his glass against his

eye.

The frost was on the village roofs as white as ocean foam; The good red fires were burning bright in every 'longshore home;

The windows sparkled clear, and the chimneys volleyed out; And I vow we sniffed the victuals as the vessel went about.

The bells upon the church were rung with a mighty jovial cheer;

For it's just that I should tell you how (of all days in the year)

This day of our adversity was blessèd Christmas morn
And the house above the coastguard's was the house where
I was born.

O well I saw the pleasant room, the pleasant faces there, My mother's silver spectacles, my father's silver hair;

And well I saw the firelight, like a flight of homely elves, Go dancing round the china plates that stand upon the shelves.

And well I knew the talk they had, the talk that was of me, Of the shadow on the household and the son that went to

sea;

And O the wicked fool I seemed, in every kind of way,

To be here and hauling frozen ropes on blessed Christmas Day.

They lit the high sea-light, and the dark began to fall.

"All hands to loose topgallant sails," I heard the captain call. "By the Lord, she'll never stand it," our first mate, Jackson, cried.

"It's the one way or the other, Mr. Jackson," he replied.

She staggered to her bearings, but the sails were new and good,

And the ship smelt up to windward, just as though she understood.

As the winter's day was ending, in the entry of the night, We cleared the weary headland, and passed below the light.

And they heaved a mighty breath, every soul on board but

me,

As they saw her nose again pointing handsome out to sea; But all that I could think of, in the darkness and the cold, Was just that I was leaving home and my folks were growing

CARGOES

Quinquireme of Nineveh from distant Ophir,
Rowing home to haven in sunny Palestine,
With a cargo of ivory,

And apes and peacocks,

Sandalwood, cedarwood, and sweet white wine.

Stately Spanish galleon coming from the Isthmus, Dipping through the Tropics by the palm-green shores, With a cargo of diamonds,

Emeralds, amethysts,

Topazes, and cinnamon, and gold moidores.

Dirty British coaster with a salt-caked smoke stack, Butting through the Channel in the mad March days, With a cargo of Tyne coal,

Road-rails, pig-lead,

Firewood, iron-ware, and cheap tin trays.

DESERTED1

John Masefield

The old house leans upon a tree

Like some old man upon a staff:
The night wind in its ancient porch
Sounds like a hollow laugh.

The heaven is wrapped in flying clouds
As grandeur cloaks itself in gray:
The starlight flitting in and out,

Glints like a lanthorn ray.

1By permission, from The Vale of Tempe. Copyright by E. P. Dutton & Company.