The sea seems distant as the moon,
as far as summer from December,
and I, here snowbound, wait for June
and rocky shorelines I remember;
High upon a grassy hill
I watch the gathering tides below
in memories, for winter’s chill
knows not but seas of drifting snow;
Sleeping ships upon the foam
know no morning, only night,
seaborne dreamers wait at home
to sail once more past Portsmouth light;
Winter is a wedded lover
clothed in white, romancing me,
but soon I’ll fly from winter’s cover
and set my heart once more to sea.