Fishing is life for towns along the sea: The value of a season may be weighed In the new sheds and fences that are made And winters passed in full security. In a slack year all the community Stiffens to failure: and bills go unpaid, The men ship to the Indies, and dismayed The women wait on mutability. Here in the old smoke houses on the shore In lines of rose and silver, the fish swing Above the fires smouldering from the floor Their dripping brightness slowly tarnishing: They do not look like any treasure store Yet they shall keep a people until spring. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EASTER HYMN by GEORGE SANTAYANA WHISPERS OF HEAVENLY DEATH by WALT WHITMAN THE KNITTING by MARGARET BARBER VERSES: THE MASTER'S SPEECH by JOHN BYROM ODE TO NAPOLEON BONAPARTE by GEORGE GORDON BYRON LITTLE TROTTY WAGTAIL by JOHN CLARE ON RE-VISITING THE SEA-SHORE, AFTER LONG ABSENCE by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE |