JOHN JONES.
31
Clear sheer wave's sheen of green, I mean,
With twinkling wrinkles—eh?
V.
Shell's bells—boy's joys that hap to snap!
It's just sea's fun, breeze done, to spite
God's rods that scourge her surge, I'd urge—
Not proper, is it—quite?
VI.
Crank plank, split spritsail—mark, sea's lark!
That grey cold sea's old sprees, begun
When men lay dark i' the ark, no spark,
All water—just God's fun!