10 Best Famous Mermaids Poems

Here is a collection of the top 10 all-time best famous Mermaids poems. This is a select list of the best famous Mermaids poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Mermaids poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of mermaids poems.

• All Famous Mermaids Poems

 In my childhood rumors ran
 Of a world beyond our door—
Terrors to the life of man
 That the highroad held in store.

Of mermaids' doleful game
 In deep water I heard tell,
Of lofty dragons belching flame,
 Of the hornèd fiend of Hell.

Tales like these were too absurd
 For my laughter-loving ear:
Soon I mocked at all I heard,
 Though with cause indeed for fear.

Now I know the mermaid kin
 I find them bound by natural laws:
They have neither tail nor fin,
 But are deadlier for that cause.

Dragons have no darting tongues,
 Teeth saw-edged, nor rattling scales;
No fire issues from their lungs,
 No black poison from their tails:

For they are creatures of dark air,
 Unsubstantial tossing forms,
Thunderclaps of man's despair
 In mid-whirl of mental storms.

And there's a true and only fiend
 Worse than prophets prophesy,
Whose full powers to hurt are screened
 Lest the race of man should die.

Ever in vain will courage plot
 The dragon's death, in coat of proof;
Or love abjure the mermaid grot;
 Or faith denounce the cloven hoof.

Mermaids will not be denied
 The last bubbles of our shame,
The Dragon flaunts an unpierced hide,
 The true fiend governs in God's name.

 A dear old couple my grandparents were, 
And kind to all dumb things; they saw in Heaven 
The lamb that Jesus petted when a child; 
Their faith was never draped by Doubt: to them 
Death was a rainbow in Eternity, 
That promised everlasting brightness soon. 
An old seafaring man was he; a rough 
Old man, but kind; and hairy, like the nut 
Full of sweet milk. All day on shore he watched 
The winds for sailors' wives, and told what ships 
Enjoyed fair weather, and what ships had storms; 
He watched the sky, and he could tell for sure 
What afternoons would follow stormy morns, 
If quiet nights would end wild afternoons. 
He leapt away from scandal with a roar, 
And if a whisper still possessed his mind, 
He walked about and cursed it for a plague. 
He took offence at Heaven when beggars passed, 
And sternly called them back to give them help. 
In this old captain's house I lived, and things 
That house contained were in ships' cabins once: 
Sea-shells and charts and pebbles, model ships; 
Green weeds, dried fishes stuffed, and coral stalks; 
Old wooden trunks with handles of spliced rope, 
With copper saucers full of monies strange, 
That seemed the savings of dead men, not touched 
To keep them warm since their real owners died; 
Strings of red beads, methought were dipped in blood, 
And swinging lamps, as though the house might move; 
An ivory lighthouse built on ivory rocks, 
The bones of fishes and three bottled ships. 
And many a thing was there which sailors make 
In idle hours, when on long voyages, 
Of marvellous patience, to no lovely end. 
And on those charts I saw the small black dots 
That were called islands, and I knew they had 
Turtles and palms, and pirates' buried gold. 
There came a stranger to my granddad's house, 
The old man's nephew, a seafarer too; 
A big, strong able man who could have walked 
Twm Barlum's hill all clad in iron mail 
So strong he could have made one man his club 
To knock down others -- Henry was his name, 
No other name was uttered by his kin. 
And here he was, sooth illclad, but oh, 
Thought I, what secrets of the sea are his! 
This man knows coral islands in the sea, 
And dusky girls heartbroken for white men; 
More rich than Spain, when the Phoenicians shipped 
Silver for common ballast, and they saw 
Horses at silver mangers eating grain; 
This man has seen the wind blow up a mermaid's hair 
Which, like a golden serpent, reared and stretched 
To feel the air away beyond her head. 
He begged my pennies, which I gave with joy -- 
He will most certainly return some time 
A self-made king of some new land, and rich. 
Alas that he, the hero of my dreams, 
Should be his people's scorn; for they had rose 
To proud command of ships, whilst he had toiled 
Before the mast for years, and well content; 
Him they despised, and only Death could bring 
A likeness in his face to show like them. 
For he drank all his pay, nor went to sea 
As long as ale was easy got on shore. 
Now, in his last long voyage he had sailed 
From Plymouth Sound to where sweet odours fan 
The Cingalese at work, and then back home -- 
But came not near my kin till pay was spent. 
He was not old, yet seemed so; for his face 
Looked like the drowned man's in the morgue, when it 
Has struck the wooden wharves and keels of ships. 
And all his flesh was pricked with Indian ink, 
His body marked as rare and delicate 
As dead men struck by lightning under trees 
And pictured with fine twigs and curlèd ferns; 
Chains on his neck and anchors on his arms; 
Rings on his fingers, bracelets on his wrist; 
And on his breast the Jane of Appledore 
Was schooner rigged, and in full sail at sea. 
He could not whisper with his strong hoarse voice, 
No more than could a horse creep quietly; 
He laughed to scorn the men that muffled close 
For fear of wind, till all their neck was hid, 
Like Indian corn wrapped up in long green leaves; 
He knew no flowers but seaweeds brown and green, 
He knew no birds but those that followed ships. 
Full well he knew the water-world; he heard 
A grander music there than we on land, 
When organ shakes a church; swore he would make 
The sea his home, though it was always roused 
By such wild storms as never leave Cape Horn; 
Happy to hear the tempest grunt and squeal 
Like pigs heard dying in a slaughterhouse. 
A true-born mariner, and this his hope -- 
His coffin would be what his cradle was, 
A boat to drown in and be sunk at sea; 
Salted and iced in Neptune's larder deep. 
This man despised small coasters, fishing-smacks; 
He scorned those sailors who at night and morn 
Can see the coast, when in their little boats 
They go a six days' voyage and are back 
Home with their wives for every Sabbath day. 
Much did he talk of tankards of old beer, 
And bottled stuff he drank in other lands, 
Which was a liquid fire like Hell to gulp, 
But Paradise to sip. 

And so he talked; 
Nor did those people listen with more awe 
To Lazurus -- whom they had seen stone dead -- 
Than did we urchins to that seaman's voice. 
He many a tale of wonder told: of where, 
At Argostoli, Cephalonia's sea 
Ran over the earth's lip in heavy floods; 
And then again of how the strange Chinese 
Conversed much as our homely Blackbirds sing. 
He told us how he sailed in one old ship 
Near that volcano Martinique, whose power 
Shook like dry leaves the whole Caribbean seas; 
And made the sun set in a sea of fire 
Which only half was his; and dust was thick 
On deck, and stones were pelted at the mast. 
Into my greedy ears such words that sleep 
Stood at my pillow half the night perplexed. 
He told how isles sprang up and sank again, 
Between short voyages, to his amaze; 
How they did come and go, and cheated charts; 
Told how a crew was cursed when one man killed 
A bird that perched upon a moving barque; 
And how the sea's sharp needles, firm and strong, 
Ripped open the bellies of big, iron ships; 
Of mighty icebergs in the Northern seas, 
That haunt the far hirizon like white ghosts. 
He told of waves that lift a ship so high 
That birds could pass from starboard unto port 
Under her dripping keel. 

Oh, it was sweet 
To hear that seaman tell such wondrous tales: 
How deep the sea in parts, that drownèd men 
Must go a long way to their graves and sink 
Day after day, and wander with the tides. 
He spake of his own deeds; of how he sailed 
One summer's night along the Bosphorus, 
And he -- who knew no music like the wash 
Of waves against a ship, or wind in shrouds -- 
Heard then the music on that woody shore 
Of nightingales,and feared to leave the deck, 
He thought 'twas sailing into Paradise. 
To hear these stories all we urchins placed 
Our pennies in that seaman's ready hand; 
Until one morn he signed on for a long cruise, 
And sailed away -- we never saw him more. 
Could such a man sink in the sea unknown? 
Nay, he had found a land with something rich, 
That kept his eyes turned inland for his life. 
'A damn bad sailor and a landshark too, 
No good in port or out' -- my granddad said.

 My sleeping children are still flying dreams 
in their goose-down heads. 
The lush of the river singing morning songs 
Fish watch their ceilings turn sun-white. 
The grey-green pike lances upstream 
Kale, like mermaid's hair 
points the water's drift. 
All is morning hush 
and bird beautiful. 

I only, 
I didn't have flu.

 S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo
Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero,
Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo.


Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question...
Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"
Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes,
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.
And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate,
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, "Do I dare?" and, "Do I dare?"
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—
(They will say: "How his hair is growing thin!")
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
(They will say: "But how his arms and legs are thin!")
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute win reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all—
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
(But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!)
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?

Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
. . . . .
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep ... tired ... or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in
upon a platter,
I am no prophet-and here's no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.


And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it towards some overwhelming question,
To say: "I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all"—
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: "That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all."

And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along
the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a
screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
"That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all."

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old ... I grow old ...
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

 Prelude 

Blue storm-clouds in hot heavens of mid-July 
Hung heavy, brooding over land and sea: 
Our hearts, a-tremble, throbbed in harmony 
With the wild, restless tone of air and sky. 
Shall we not call im Prospero who held 
In his enchanted hands the fateful key 
Of that tempestuous hour's mystery, 
And with controlling wand our spirits spelled, 
With him to wander by a sun-bright shore, 
To hear fine, fairy voices, and to fly 
With disembodied Ariel once more 
Above earth's wrack and ruin? Far and nigh 
The laughter of the thunder echoed loud, 
And harmless lightnings leapt from cloud to cloud. 


I

Floating upon a swelling wave of sound, 
We seemed to overlook an endless sea: 
Poised 'twixt clear heavens and glittering surf were we. 
We drank the air in flight: we knew no bound 
To the audacious ventures of desire. 
Nigh us the sun was dropping, drowned in gold; 
Deep, deep below the burning billows rolled; 
And all the sea sang like a smitten lyre. 
Oh, the wild voices of those chanting waves! 
The human faces glimpsed beneath the tide! 
Familiar eyes gazed from profound sea-caves, 
And we, exalted, were as we had died. 
We knew the sea was Life, the harmonious cry 
The blended discords of humanity. 


II

Look deeper yet: mark 'midst the wave-blurred mass, 
In lines distinct, in colors clear defined, 
The typic groups and figures of mankind. 
Behold within the cool and liquid glass 
Bright child-folk sporting with smooth yellow shells, 
Astride of dolphins, leaping up to kiss 
Fair mother-faces. From the vast abyss 
How joyously their thought-free laughter wells! 
Some slumber in grim caverns unafraid, 
Lulled by the overwhelming water's sound, 
And some make mouths at dragons, undismayed. 
Oh dauntless innocence! The gulfs profound 
Reëcho strangely with their ringing glee, 
And with wise mermaids' plaintive melody. 


III

What do the sea-nymphs in that coral cave? 
With wondering eyes their supple forms they bend 
O'er something rarely beautiful. They lend 
Their lithe white arms, and through the golden wave 
They lift it tenderly. Oh blinding sight! 
A naked, radiant goddess, tranced in sleep, 
Full-limbed, voluptuous, 'neath the mantling sweep 
Of auburn locks that kiss her ankles white! 
Upward they bear her, chanting low and sweet: 
The clinging waters part before their way, 
Jewels of flame are dancing 'neath their feet. 
Up in the sunshine, on soft foam, they lay 
Their precious burden, and return forlorn. 
Oh, bliss! oh, anguish! Mortals, Love is born! 


IV

Hark! from unfathomable deeps a dirge 
Swells sobbing through the melancholy air: 
Where love has entered, Death is also there. 
The wail outrings the chafed, tumultuous surge; 
Ocean and earth, the illimitable skies, 
Prolong one note, a mourning for the dead, 
The cry of souls not to be comforted. 
What piercing music! Funeral visions rise, 
And send the hot tears raining down our cheek. 
We see the silent grave upon the hill 
With its lone lilac-bush. O heart, be still! 
She will not rise, she will not stir nor speak. 
Surely, the unreturning dead are blest. 
Ring on, sweet dirge, and knell us to our rest! 


V

Upon the silver beach the undines dance 
With interlinking arms and flying hair; 
Like polished marble gleam their limbs left bare; 
Upon their virgin rites pale moonbeams glance. 
Softer the music! for their foam-bright feet 
Print not the moist floor where they trip their round: 
Affrighted they will scatter at a sound, 
Leap in their cool sea-chambers, nibly fleet, 
And we shall doubt that we have ever seen, 
While our sane eyes behold stray wreaths of mist, 
Shot with faint colors by the moon-rays kissed, 
Floating snow-soft, snow-white, where these had been. 
Already, look! the wave-washed sands are bare, 
And mocking laughter ripples through the air. 


VI

Divided 'twixt the dream-world and the real, 
We heard the waxing passion of the song 
Soar as to scale the heavens on pinions strong. 
Amidst the long-reverberant thunder-peal, 
Against the rain-blurred square of light, the head 
Of the pale poet at the lyric keys 
Stood boldly cut, absorbed in reveries, 
While over it keen-bladed lightnings played. 
"Rage on, wild storm!" the music seemed to sing: 
"Not all the thunders of thy wrath can move 
The soul that's dedicate to worshipping 
Eternal Beauty, everlasting Love." 
No more! the song was ended, and behold, 
A rainbow trembling on a sky of gold! 


Epilogue

Forth in the sunlit, rain-bathed air we stepped, 
Sweet with the dripping grass and flowering vine, 
And saw through irised clouds the pale sun shine. 
Back o'er the hills the rain-mist slowly crept 
Like a transparent curtain's silvery sheen; 
And fronting us the painted bow was arched, 
Whereunder the majestic cloud-shapes marched: 
In the wet, yellow light the dazzling green 
Of lawn and bush and tree seemed stained with blue. 
Our hearts o'erflowed with peace. With smiles we spake 
Of partings in the past, of courage new, 
Of high achievement, of the dreams that make 
A wonder and a glory of our days, 
And all life's music but a hymn of praise.

 I

Who would be
A merman bold,
Sitting alone
Singing alone
Under the sea,
With a crown of gold,
On a throne?

II

I would be a merman bold,
I would sit and sing the whole of the day;
I would fill the sea-halls with a voice of power;
But at night I would roam abroad and play
With the mermaids in and out of the rocks,
Dressing their hair with the white sea-flower;
And holding them back by their flowing locks
I would kiss them often under the sea,
And kiss them again till they kiss'd me
 Laughingly, laughingly;
And then we would wander away, away,
To the pale-green sea-groves straight and high,
 Chasing each other merrily.

III

There would be neither moon nor star;
But the wave would make music above us afar --
Low thunder and light in the magic night --
 Neither moon nor star.
We would call aloud in the dreamy dells,
Call to each other and whoop and cry
 All night, merrily, merrily.
They would pelt me with starry spangles and shells,
Laughing and clapping their hands between,
 All night, merrily, merrily,
But I would throw to them back in mine
Turkis and agate and almondine;
Then leaping out upon them unseen
I would kiss them often under the sea,
And kiss them again till they kiss'd me
 Laughingly, laughingly.
O, what a happy life where mine
Under the hollow-hung ocean green!
Soft are the moss-beds under the sea;
We would live merrily, merrily.

 'But that was nothing to what things came out
From the sea-caves of Criccieth yonder.'
'What were they? Mermaids? dragons? ghosts?'
'Nothing at all of any things like that.'
'What were they, then?'
 'All sorts of ***** things,
Things never seen or heard or written about,
Very strange, un-Welsh, utterly peculiar
Things. Oh, solid enough they seemed to touch,
Had anyone dared it. Marvellous creation,
All various shapes and sizes, and no sizes,
All new, each perfectly unlike his neighbour,
Though all came moving slowly out together.'
'Describe just one of them.'
 'I am unable.'
'What were their colours?'
 'Mostly nameless colours,
Colours you'd like to see; but one was puce
Or perhaps more like crimson, but not purplish.
Some had no colour.'
 'Tell me, had they legs?'
'Not a leg or foot among them that I saw.'
'But did these things come out in any order?'
What o'clock was it? What was the day of the week?
Who else was present? How was the weather?'
'I was coming to that. It was half-past three
On Easter Tuesday last. The sun was shining.
The Harlech Silver Band played Marchog Jesu
On thrity-seven shimmering instruments
Collecting for Caernarvon's (Fever) Hospital Fund.
The populations of Pwllheli, Criccieth,
Portmadoc, Borth, Tremadoc, Penrhyndeudraeth,
Were all assembled. Criccieth's mayor addressed them
First in good Welsh and then in fluent English,
Twisting his fingers in his chain of office,
Welcoming the things. They came out on the sand,
Not keeping time to the band, moving seaward
Silently at a snail's pace. But at last
The most odd, indescribable thing of all
Which hardly one man there could see for wonder
Did something recognizably a something.'
'Well, what?'
 'It made a noise.'
 'A frightening noise?'
'No, no.'
 'A musical noise? A noise of scuffling?'
'No, but a very loud, respectable noise ---
Like groaning to oneself on Sunday morning
In Chapel, close before the second psalm.'
'What did the mayor do?'
 'I was coming to that.'

 Once I loved a fairy, 
Queen Mab it was. Her voice 
Was like a little Fountain 
That bids the birds rejoice. 
Her face was wise and solemn, 
Her hair was brown and fine. 
Her dress was pansy velvet, 
A butterfly design. 

To see her hover round me 
Or walk the hills of air, 
Awakened love's deep pulses 
And boyhood's first despair; 
A passion like a sword-blade 
That pierced me thro' and thro': 
Her fingers healed the sorrow 
Her whisper would renew. 
We sighed and reigned and feasted 
Within a hollow tree, 
We vowed our love was boundless, 
Eternal as the sea. 

She banished from her kingdom 
The mortal boy I grew — 
So tall and crude and noisy, 
I killed grasshoppers too. 
I threw big rocks at pigeons, 
I plucked and tore apart 
The weeping, wailing daisies, 
And broke my lady's heart. 
At length I grew to manhood, 
I scarcely could believe 
I ever loved the lady, 
Or caused her court to grieve, 
Until a dream came to me, 
One bleak first night of Spring, 
Ere tides of apple blossoms 
Rolled in o'er everything, 
While rain and sleet and snowbanks 
Were still a-vexing men, 
Ere robin and his comrades 
Were nesting once again. 

I saw Mab's Book of Judgment — 
Its clasps were iron and stone, 
Its leaves were mammoth ivory, 
Its boards were mammoth bone, — 
Hid in her seaside mountains, 
Forgotten or unkept, 
Beneath its mighty covers 
Her wrath against me slept. 
And deeply I repented 
Of brash and boyish crime, 
Of murder of things lovely 
Now and in olden time. 
I cursed my vain ambition, 
My would-be worldly days, 
And craved the paths of wonder, 
Of dewy dawns and fays. 
I cried, "Our love was boundless, 
Eternal as the sea, 
O Queen, reverse the sentence, 
Come back and master me!" 

The book was by the cliff-side 
Upon its edge upright. 
I laid me by it softly, 
And wept throughout the night. 
And there at dawn I saw it, 
No book now, but a door, 
Upon its panels written, 
"Judgment is no more." 
The bolt flew back with thunder, 
I saw within that place 
A mermaid wrapped in seaweed 
With Mab's immortal face, 
Yet grown now to a woman, 
A woman to the knee. 
She cried, she clasped me fondly, 
We soon were in the sea. 

Ah, she was wise and subtle, 
And gay and strong and sleek, 
We chained the wicked sword-fish, 
We played at hide and seek. 
We floated on the water, 
We heard the dawn-wind sing, 
I made from ocean-wonders, 
Her bridal wreath and ring. 
All mortal girls were shadows, 
All earth-life but a mist, 
When deep beneath the maelstrom, 
The mermaid's heart I kissed. 

I woke beside the church-door 
Of our small inland town, 
Bowing to a maiden 
In a pansy-velvet gown, 
Who had not heard of fairies, 
Yet seemed of love to dream. 
We planned an earthly cottage 
Beside an earthly stream. 

Our wedding long is over, 
With toil the years fill up, 
Yet in the evening silence, 
We drink a deep-sea cup. 
Nothing the fay remembers, 
Yet when she turns to me, 
We meet beneath the whirlpool, 
We swim the golden sea.

 The Devil is a gentleman and askes you down to stay
At his little place at What'sitsname (it isn't far away).
They say the sport is splendid; there is always something new,
And fairy scenes, and fearful feats that none but he can do;
He can shoot the feathered cherubs if they fly on the estate,
Or fish for Father Neptune with the mermaids for a bait;
He scaled amid the staggering stars that precipice the sky,
And blew his trumpet above heaven, and got by mastery
The starry crown of God Himself and shoved it on the shelf;
But the devil is a gentleman, and doesn't brag himself.

O blind your eyes and break your heart and hack your hand away,
And lose your love and shave your head; but do not go to stay
At the little place in What'hitsname where folks are rich and clever;
The golden and the goodly house, where things grow worse forever;
There are things you need not know of, though you live and die in vain,
There are souls more sick of pleasure than you are sick of pain;
There is a game of April Fool that's played behind its door,
Where the fool remains forever and April comes no more,
Where the splendor of the daylight grows drearier than the dark,
And life droops like a vulture that once was such a lark:
And that is the Blue Devil, that once was the Blue Bird;
For the Devil is a gentleman, and doesn't keep his word

 The strong shore is my beloved 
And I am his sweetheart. 
We are at last united by love, and 
Then the moon draws me from him. 
I go to him in haste and depart 
Reluctantly, with many 
Little farewells. 


I steal swiftly from behind the 
Blue horizon to cast the silver of 
My foam upon the gold of his sand, and 
We blend in melted brilliance. 


I quench his thirst and submerge his 
Heart; he softens my voice and subdues 
My temper. 
At dawn I recite the rules of love upon 
His ears, and he embraces me longingly. 


At eventide I sing to him the song of 
Hope, and then print smooth hisses upon 
His face; I am swift and fearful, but he 
Is quiet, patient, and thoughtful. His 
Broad bosom soothes my restlessness. 


As the tide comes we caress each other, 
When it withdraws, I drop to his feet in 
Prayer. 


Many times have I danced around mermaids 
As they rose from the depths and rested 
Upon my crest to watch the stars; 
Many times have I heard lovers complain 
Of their smallness, and I helped them to sigh. 


Many times have I teased the great rocks 
And fondled them with a smile, but never 
Have I received laughter from them; 
Many times have I lifted drowning souls 
And carried them tenderly to my beloved 
Shore. He gives them strength as he 
Takes mine. 


Many times have I stolen gems from the 
Depths and presented them to my beloved 
Shore. He takes them in silence, but still 
I give fro he welcomes me ever. 


In the heaviness of night, when all 
Creatures seek the ghost of Slumber, I 
Sit up, singing at one time and sighing 
At another. I am awake always. 


Alas! Sleeplessness has weakened me! 
But I am a lover, and the truth of love 
Is strong. 
I may be weary, but I shall never die.