(Wooer's Song)

Why be at pains that I should know
        You sought not me?
Do breezes, then, make features glow
        So rosily?
Come, the lit port is at our back,
        And the tumbling sea;
Elsewhere the lampless uphill track
        To uncertainty!
O should not we two waifs join hands?
        I am alone,
You would enrich me more than lands
        By being my own.
Yet, though this facile moment flies,
        Close is your tone,
And ere to-morrow's dewfall dries
        I plough the unknown.