“I turned and looked upon the bay, With palm to forehead—eyes a-blur In the sea’s smile—meant but for her!— I saw the fish-boats far away In misty distance, lightly drawn In chalk-dots on the horizon— Looked back at her, long, wistfully,— And, pushing off an empty skiff, I beckoned her to quit the cliff And yield me her rare company Upon a little pleasure-cruise.— She stood, as loathful to refuse, To muse for full a moment’s time,— Then answered back in pantomime ‘She feared some danger from the sea Were she discovered thus with me.’ I motioned then to ask her if I might not join her on the cliff; And back again, with graceful wave Of lifted arm, she answer gave ‘She feared some danger from the sea.’ “Impatient, piqued, impetuous, I Sprang in the boat, and flung ‘Good-bye’ From pouted mouth with angry hand, And madly pulled away from land With lusty stroke, despite that she Held out her hands entreatingly: And when far out, with covert eye I shoreward glanced, I saw her fly In reckless haste adown the crag, Her hair a-flutter like a flag Of gold that danced across the strand In little mists of silver sand. All curious I, pausing, tried To fancy what it all implied,— When suddenly I found my feet Were wet; and, underneath the seat On which I sat, I heard the sound Of gurgling waters, and I found The boat aleak alarmingly.... I turned and looked upon the sea, Whose every wave seemed mocking me; I saw the fishers’ sails once more— In dimmer distance than before; I saw the sea-bird wheeling by, With foolish wish that _I_ could fly: I thought of firm earth, home and friends— I thought of everything that tends To drive a man to frenzy and To wholly lose his own command; I thought of all my waywardness— Thought of a mother’s deep distress; Of youthful follies yet unpurged— Sins, as the seas, about me surged— Thought of the printer’s ready pen To-morrow drowning me again;— A million things without a name— I thought of everything but—Fame.... “A memory yet is in my mind, So keenly clear and sharp-defined, I picture every phase and line Of life and death, and neither mine,— While some fair seraph, golden-haired, Bends over me,—with white arms bared, That strongly plait themselves about My drowning weight and lift me out— With joy too great for words to state Or tongue to dare articulate! “And this seraphic ocean-child And heroine was Orlie Wilde: And thus it was I came to hear Her voice’s music in my ear— Ay, thus it was Fate paved the way That I walk desolate to-day!” ...