Jack London

              The Sea Sprite and the Shooting Star

                   A little sea sprite,
                   on the sea one night,
                   Cried "Now is the time for me,"
                   And he looked above,
                   And he looked for his love;
                   For he was in love, you see.

                   But his love was a star
                   In the sky a-far,
                   And she knew not his love so true;
                   So he tried to think
                   Of a magic link
                   'Twixt the sea and the sky so blue.

                   Then out of the sky,
                   From the moon on high,
                   A silvery moonbeam fell;
                   And it fell on the brine,
                   With its wonderful shine,
                   On the brine where the sea sprites dwell.

                   Though the siren sing
                   Where the sea bells ring
                   And the sleepy poppies dream —
                   Though the sea sprite knew
                   Their songs untrue,
                   He knew not the false moonbeam.

                   For the way seemed clear
                   To his love so dear,
                   And he needn't have wings to fly;
                   Up its silvery stream
                   He would climb by the beam,
                   He would climb right into the sky.

                   Up the glittering step
                   He carefully crept,
                   While his heart beat a merry tune;
                   But O what a fright
                   To the poor little sprite,
                   When he came to the crescent moon.

                   Alas! and A-lack!
                   He couldn't get back,
                   For the moonbeams flew away;
                   And the stars in the sky
                   Knew not he was nigh,
                   Or that he had lost his way.

                   There he sat forlorn,
                   On the crescent horn,
                   And thought of his home in the sea
                   Of his brothers at play
                   All the livelong day
                   On the foam so fresh and free.

                   Then he saw his star,
                   In her golden car,
                   As she twinkled above his head;
                   And he sobbed and sighed, 
                   And woefully cried
                   That he wished — he wished he was dead.

                   But the little the star heard
                   His every word,
                   And thrilled at his musical voice
                   Like the tinkling of bells,
                   Or the songs of shells,
                   And it bade her heart rejoice,

                   For she was lonely and sad,
                   And no lover had;
                   And she'd twinkled so long up there,
                   It had often been said
                   That she never would wed — 
                   And yet she was wonderous fair,

                   But often she'd seen,
                   On the ocean green,
                   The sea sprite who had loved her so;
                   Though he came not to woo,
                   She had loved him too,
                   Yet she never would tell him — oh no.

                   But as she looked down
                   On the lover she'd found —
                   The story is strange to relate — 
                   She sprang from her car,
                   For the height was no bar,
                   And hurried to join her mate.

                   Oh how her heart beat,
                   As she leaped from her seat,
                   And fell to the moon below;
                   And the stars were aghast,
                   As she darted past,
                   And they all said "I told you so."

                   And her golden hair,
                   As she fell through the air,
                   Shown bright like a comet's tail;
                   While the people on earth,
                   All ceased from their mirth
                   As they watched her fiery trail.

                   Not a bit too soon,
                   She came to the moon,
                   Where she grasped her lover's hand;
                   And they sang with glee,
                   As they splashed in the sea,
                   Right into the sea sprite's land.

                   And the sea o' nights
                   Is bright with lights,
                   Whenever they're out to play
                   For the white sea foam
                   Is their beautiful home,
                   Where they live forever and aye.

                   Original manuscript, 1899.
                   Privately printed in 1932


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