Our brows are wreathed with spindrift and the weed is on our knees;Our loins are battered 'neath us by the swinging, smoking seas.From reef and rock and skerry-over headland, ness and voe-The Coastwise Lights of England watch the ships of England go Through the endless summer evenings, on the lineless, level floors;Through the yelling Channel tempest when the syren hoots and roars-By day the dipping house-flag and by night the rocket's trail-As the sheep that graze behind us so we know them where they hail.We bridge across the dark, and bid the helmsman have a care, The flash that wheeling inland wakes his sleeping wife to prayer;From our vexed eyries, head to gale, we bind in burning chainsThe lover from the sea-rim drawn-his love in English lanes
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