Robert Browning (1812 - 89)

[soixantequatre]

Meeting at Night
The grey sea and the long black land;
And the yellow half-moon large and low;
And the startled little waves that leap
In fiery ringliets from their sleep,
As I gain the cove with pushing prow,
And quench its speed i` the slushy sand.

Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach;
Three fields to cross till a farm appears;
A tap at the pane, the quick sharp scratch
And blue spurt of a lighted match,
And a voice less loud, thro` it`s joys and fears,
Then the two hearts beating each to each!