UNDER THE SKY
Reading edition
Far out to sea go the fishing junks, With all sails set, The tide swings gray and the clouds sway, The wind blows wet; Blows wet from the long coast lying dim As if mist-born. Far out they sail, as the stars pale, The stars of morn. Far out to sea go the fishing junks, And I who pass Upon a deck that is vaster reck No more, alas, Of all their life, or they of mine, Than comes to this,— That under the sky we live and die, Like all that is.