Our decks fe gold;
Our ropes are dead aidshair, Our stores are love-shafts fair
And anifold.
We areloves nd today—
Where shall we nd you, sweet?
On fields of strange ,
Or fields near ho?
Or where the fire-flowers blow, Or where the flowers of snow
Or flowers of foa?
We areloves hand today—
Land , she says, where love
Shows but one shaft, one dove,
O, one nd.—
A shore like that, y dear,
Lies where no an will steer,
No aiden nd.