VI THE SPANISH SAILOR

Through lines of lights the river glides, Bestrewn with many a green-eyed ship, And swiftly down the slinking tides All night the heavy steamers slip. Bright shone the moon when he slunk down, A-sailing to some foreign parts, Past Greenwich and past Gravesend Town And caring nought for broken hearts. ’Twas in July. He kissed and fled: He stole my all and slipt to sea, And now I wish that I was dead —Or that his arms were crushing me.