Robert Browning

              Meeting At Night

                   The grey sea and the long black land; 
                   And the yellow half-moon large and low; 
                   And the startled little waves that leap 
                   In fiery ringlets from their sleep, 
                   As I gain the cove with pushing prow, 
                   And quench its speed i' the slushy sand. 

                   Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach; 
                   Three fields to cross till a farm appears; 
                   A tap at the pane, the quick sharp scratch 
                   And blue spurt of a lighted match, 
                   And a voice less loud, through its joys and fears, 
                   Than the two hearts beating each to each! 


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