Thou that dost thy Christmas keep Lonesome on the torrid deep, But in thy "Meteor" proudly sweep O'er the waves that vainly comb -- Of thee we think, To thee we drink, And drain the glass, my gallant Tom! Thou that, duty-led, dost roam Far from thy shepherd-brother's home -- Shearer of the ocean-foam! To whom one Christmas may not come, -- Of thee I think Till on its brink The glass shows tears, beloved Tom! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PARIS IN SPRING by SARA TEASDALE PISCATAQUA RIVER by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH SWEET STAY-AT-HOME by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES ORANGE BUDS BY MAIL FROM FLORIDA by WALT WHITMAN MICHAELMASSE by JOSEPH BEAUMONT PSALM 113 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE VILLAGE GREEN by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |