By the Sea

by Frances Fuller Victor

Blue is the mist on the mountains,

White is the fog on the sea;

Ruby and gold is the sunset,—

And Bertha is waiting for me.

Down on the loathsome sand-beach,

Her eyes as blue as the mist;

Her brows as white as the sea-fog,—

Bertha, whose lips I have kissed.

Bertha, whose lips are like rubies,

Whose hair is like coiléd gold;

Whose sweet, rare smile is tenderer

Than any legend of old.

One morn, one noon, one sunset,

Must pass before we meet;

O wind and sail bear steady on,

And bring me to her feet.

The morn rose pale and sullen,

The noon was still and dun;

Across the storm at sunset,

Came the boom of a signal-gun.

Who treads the loathsome sand-beach,

With wet, disordered hair;

With garments tangled with sea-weed,

And cheeks more pale than fair?

O blue-eyed, white-browed maiden,

He will keep love's tryst no more;

His ship sailed safely into port—

But on the heavenward shore.