Poem

 To Thee From Across the Sea

The rolling hills 

The gentle leaves

Come dance with me

My darling

Distant peaks

All capped with white

The gentle rush of the Irish sea

Dost bid thee on thy journey

The golden locks

Of a maiden fair

Doth mingle with 

My memory

So send me sweet one

Send me dear

Upon thy yonder journey

And I shall travel

To distant fjords

If but to be thine only

 I’ve traversed the sea

And ridden the waves

I’ve found treasure in

The distant lands

But this alone is not my aim

Give me thine heart

And give my thy hand

And I shall marry thee

Give me thy love my darling dear

Come and dance with me

Through the storms

And through the haze

I have not forgotten thee

Come my darling

Bid me home

And I shall come to thee

If the sea doth claim my life

My darling do not wonder

As to my love for thee

Know ever that what I meant 

Was to return to thee 

. . . . .

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