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Robert Laurence Binyon - John Winter
Work rating: Low

What ails John Winter, that so oft
 Silent he sits apart?
 The neighbours cast their looks on him;
 But deep he hides his heart.

 In Deptford streets the houses small
 Huddle forlorn together.
 Whether the wind blow or be still,
 `Tis soiled and sorry weather.

 But over these dim roofs arise
 Tall masts of ocean ships,
 Whenever John Winter looked on them
 The salt blew on his lips.

 He cannot pace the street about,
 But they stand before his eyes!
 The more he shuns them, the more proud
 And beautiful they rise.

 He turns his head, but in his ear
 The steady Trade--winds run,
 And in his eye the endless waves
 Ride on into the sun.

 His little boy at evening said,
 Now tell us, Dad, a tale
 Of naked men that shoot with bows,
 Tell of the spouting whale!

 He told old tales, his eyes were bright,
 His wife looked up to see
 And smiled on him: but in the midst
 He ended suddenly.

 He bade them each good--night, and kissed
 And held them to his breast.
 They wondered and were still, to feel
 Their lips so fondly pressed.

 He sat absorbed in silent gloom.
 His wife lifted her head
 From sewing, and stole up to him.
 What ails you, John? she said.

 He spoke no word. A silent tear
 Fell softly down her cheek.
 She knelt beside him, and his hand
 Was on her forehead meek.

 But even as his tender touch
 Her dumb distress consoled,
 The mighty waves danced in his eyes
 And through the silence rolled.

 There fell a soft November night,
 Restless with gusts that shook
 The chimneys, and beat wildly down
 The flames in the chimney nook.

 John Winter lay beside his wife.
 `Twas past the mid of night.
 Softly he rose, and in dead hush
 Stood stealthily upright.

 Softly he came where slept his boys,
 And kissed them in their bed.
 One stretched his arms out in his sleep:
 At that he turned his head.

 And now he bent above his wife.
 She slept a sleep serene.
 Her patient soul was in the peace
 Of breathing slumber seen.

 At last he kissed one aching kiss,
 Then shrank again in dread,
 And from his own home guiltily
 And like a thief he fled.

 But now with darkness and the wind
 He breathes a breath more free,
 And walks with calmer step like one
 Who goes with destiny.

 And see, before him the great masts
 Tower with all their spars
 Black on the dimness, soaring bold
 Among the mazy stars.

 In stormy rushings through the air
 Wild scents the darkness filled,
 And with a fierce forgetfulness
 His drinking nostril thrilled.

 He hasted with quick feet, he hugged
 The wildness to his breast,
 As one who goes the only way
 To set his heart at rest.

 When morning glimmered, a great ship
 Dropt gliding down the shore.
 John Winter coiled the anchor ropes
 Among his mates once more.
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