THE FISHER FOLK
I knowa little villageWhere fisher folk abide;The dark pine woods behind it,The southern sea beside.There rosy pink crape-myrtlesIn every dooryard grow,And through the glossy live-oaksThe salt sea breezes blow.At break of day the fishersSail out to sea to reapThe harvest that they sowed not,The harvest of the deep.Then, when their nets are emptied,They set their sails for land,To heap the shining fishesUpon the shining sand.Where little barefoot childrenAwait them, eager-eyed,And play the while with sea-shellsCast upward by the tide.And all seem so content there,From worldly care so free,I would that I could find it,This secret of the sea!
I knowa little villageWhere fisher folk abide;The dark pine woods behind it,The southern sea beside.There rosy pink crape-myrtlesIn every dooryard grow,And through the glossy live-oaksThe salt sea breezes blow.At break of day the fishersSail out to sea to reapThe harvest that they sowed not,The harvest of the deep.Then, when their nets are emptied,They set their sails for land,To heap the shining fishesUpon the shining sand.Where little barefoot childrenAwait them, eager-eyed,And play the while with sea-shellsCast upward by the tide.And all seem so content there,From worldly care so free,I would that I could find it,This secret of the sea!
I knowa little villageWhere fisher folk abide;The dark pine woods behind it,The southern sea beside.
I knowa little village
Where fisher folk abide;
The dark pine woods behind it,
The southern sea beside.
There rosy pink crape-myrtlesIn every dooryard grow,And through the glossy live-oaksThe salt sea breezes blow.
There rosy pink crape-myrtles
In every dooryard grow,
And through the glossy live-oaks
The salt sea breezes blow.
At break of day the fishersSail out to sea to reapThe harvest that they sowed not,The harvest of the deep.
At break of day the fishers
Sail out to sea to reap
The harvest that they sowed not,
The harvest of the deep.
Then, when their nets are emptied,They set their sails for land,To heap the shining fishesUpon the shining sand.
Then, when their nets are emptied,
They set their sails for land,
To heap the shining fishes
Upon the shining sand.
Where little barefoot childrenAwait them, eager-eyed,And play the while with sea-shellsCast upward by the tide.
Where little barefoot children
Await them, eager-eyed,
And play the while with sea-shells
Cast upward by the tide.
And all seem so content there,From worldly care so free,I would that I could find it,This secret of the sea!
And all seem so content there,
From worldly care so free,
I would that I could find it,
This secret of the sea!