Celia Thaxter divided her time between her family s lighthouse on the Isles of Shoals and her husband s family home in Newton, west of Boston.
Rock, little boat, beneath the quiet sky;
Only the stars behold us where we lie, --
Only the stars and yonder brightening moon.
On the wide sea tonight alone are we;
The sweet, bright summer day dies silently,
Its glowing sunset will have faded soon.
Rock softly, little boat, the while I mark
The far off gliding sails, distinct and dark,
Across the west pass steadily and slow.
But on the eastern waters sad, they change
And vanish, dream-like, gray, and cold, and strange,
And no one knoweth whither they may go.
We care not, we, drifting with wind and tide,
While glad waves darken upon either side,
Save where the moon sends silver sparkles down,
Yonder slender stream of hanging light,
And now white, now crimson, tremulously bright,
Where dark the lighthouse stands, with fiery crown.
Thick falls the dew soundless on sea and shore.
It shines on little boat and idle oar,
Wherever moonbeams touch with tranquil glow.
The waves are full of whispers wild and sweet;
They call to me, -- incessantly they beat
Along the boat from stern to carved prow.
Comes the careering wind, blows back my hair,
All damp with dew, to kiss me unaware
Murmuring, "Thee I love," and passes on.
Sweet sounds on rocky shores the distant rote;
Oh could we float forever, little boat,
Under the blissful sky drifting alone!