Come to the window, dear;
listen to the sea-swell
comb its patterns on the sand.

Stand by my side and hear
the clanging of a buoy-bell,
breakers crash upon the strand.

Tonight, then, you and I
may stand and breathe the evening
waiting hopefully to see

the dusk-fire turn to night,
the drunken ***** go weaving
from their holes into the sea.