AT SEA
Tangled and torn, the white sea-laces
Broider the breast of the Indian Deep:
Lifted aloft the strong screw races
To slacken and strain in the waves which leap:
The great sails swell: the broad bows shiver
To green and silver the purple sea;
And, down from the sunset, a dancing river
Flows, broken gold, where our ship goes free.
Too free! too fast! With memories laden
I gaze to the northward where lies Japan:
Oh, fair and pleasant, and soft-voiced maiden!
You are there, too distant! O Yoshi San!
You are under those clouds by the storm-winds shaken,
