I drew her out of the wave
High up on the windy shore.
Oh, never a fish I caught
So fair in my net before.
And white she was as the foam
That flies from the storm-whipped sea;
I held her close to my heart,
Where at rest she would not be.
Swift she turned her east and west,
Slow she turned her north and south;
The salt from her weed-brown hair
Stung bitter upon my mouth.
I drew her close to my heart,
And I kissed her wave-wet cheek;
Till fear went out of her eyes
At the love my lips did speak.
And soon, for a hedge-grove flower
She followed me by the hill,
Where call of the sea was lost,
And fall of the wave was still.
And long in my garden fair
She laughed in her strange delight
At swaying of roses red,
At perfume of lilies white.
I clad her in robes of silk,
I shod her in shoon of gold;
And jewel and gem I found
For her slender hands to hold,
Full many a priceless gift
That my nets had brought to me,
From grasp of the restless dead
Who move in deep of the sea.
And I sung to make her glad,
And I laughed to see her play,
As I shook my nets in the sun
All out in the golden day.
But alack! for joy too brief,
There rolled and tinkling fell,
From twist and twine of the net
A knarled and curséd shell.
She held it high in her hand;
I knew she was lost to me.
She laid her lips to its pearl
And heard the call of the sea.
She heard the cry of the sea
And she thrust me from her side
And out to its cold embrace
She flew like a willing bride.
And I heard the laugh of the wave
Far off on the windy shore.
Oh! never a dream I caught
So fair in my net before.
