A Grey Day

Grey drizzling mists the moorlands drape,

Rain whitens the dead sea,

From headland dim to sullen cape

Grey sails creep wearily.

I know not how that merchantman

Has found the heart; but 'tis her plan

Seaward her endless course to shape.

Unreal as insects that appall

A drunkard's peevish brain,

O'er the grey deep the dories crawl,

Four-legged, with rowers twain:

Midgets and minims of the earth,

Across old ocean's vasty girth

Toiling—heroic, comical!

I wonder how that merchant's crew

Have ever found the will!

I wonder what the fishers do

To keep them toiling still!

I wonder how the heart of man

Has patience to live out its span,

Or wait until its dreams come true.