Page:Shingle-short-Baughan-1908.djvu/84

 Then, amid the cosy, warm tobacco-smoke, Through the deep, protecting tones of the men-folk, Good it was to listen, with your head on Father’s knee, To the falling, lifting, falling, of the Sea!

Or, gazing through the window that look’d upon the tide, To dare all that big, black, bogey Dark outside.... Outside, the pouncing Dark, and cold, cold foam,— Inside, all of us—and Father! safe back home.

Then, when all was over, all the good-nights said, Fire cover’d up again, and every one in bed— Why, bless me, child, ’twasn’t over! ’Tisn’t yet—the dear delight Of those sudden riches rain’d down in the middle of the night.