Row swift thy boat to land;
Come here and sit beside me,
We 'll whisper, hand in hand.
Thy little head upon my breast,
No need of fear with me;
Art thou not ever fearless
Upon the boisterous sea?
My breast is like the heaving sea,
With storms and ebb and flow,
And many a priceless pearl
Sleeps in its depths below.
A. L. H.