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letra de harp song of the dane women - elizabeth maconchy

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what is a woman that you forsake her
and the hearth-fire and the home-acre
to go with the old grey widow-maker?

she has no house to lay a guest in
but one chill bed for all to rest in
that the pale suns and the stray bergs nest in

she has no strong white arms to fold you
but the ten-times-fingering weed to hold you
out on the rocks where the tide has rolled you

yet, when the signs of summer thicken
and the ice breaks, and the birch-buds quicken
yearly you turn from our side, and sicken- –

sicken again for the shouts and the slaughters
you steal away to the lapping waters
and look at your ship in her winter-quarters

you forget our mirth, and talk at the tables
the kine in the shed and the horse in the stables
to pitch her sides and go over her cables

then you drive out where the storm-clouds swallow
and the sound of your oar-blades, falling hollow
is all we have left through the months to follow
ah, what is woman that you forsake her
and the hearth-fire and the home-acre
to go with the old grey widow-maker?

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