Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE WIFE, by EDWARD BLISS REED


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE WIFE, by                    
First Line: The day was fair, the wind blew steadily
Last Line: Stunned by the thought of our own littleness.
Subject(s): Death; Farewell; Nature; Sailing & Sailors; Sea; Storms; Dead, The; Parting; Ocean


The day was fair, the wind blew steadily.
We raised the sails and headed straight to sea,
Gay fugitives from that mad prison pen,
The City; the new Moloch to whom men
Offer themselves a living sacrifice.
We had escaped. Sudden before our eyes
Unrolled the wind-tossed carpet of the seas,
The radiant fields of heaven shone. At ease,
Sprawling upon the deck, we watched on high
The lazy clouds, outstripped as we sped by;
Laughed as the spray flew over us, and now
Heard the waves singing round our eager prow.
Like drowsy children, careless and content,
We looked but questioned not what all this meant.

Rousing us from this happy lethargy,
Our artist called us to awake and see
The ocean shadows drifting clouds had made,
With half the waves in light, and half in shade.
His pipe in hand, he praised the skill of one
Whose brush could catch the waters, hold the sun,
And fix the heavens in a gilded frame.
Our poet spoke of one, assured of fame,
Whose verse swayed with the rhythm of the tide
And foam-peaked waves, and dipping gulls. He tried
To sing a ballad he had lately made.
From that we talked of music; how one played
Until it seemed Nature herself had sent
All earthly tones to his small instrument.
At length we felt our day was incomplete,
Old Adam rose within us—we must eat.

Hot from the cabin, eagerly we took
The feast prepared by our much-lauded cook;
Well fed, untroubled, what more could life give?
"Brothers," said one, "this is the way to live,
Feasting on chowder, nature, verse, and art."
"Here," said the skipper, "hand me up that chart.
That sky looks angry. Luckily we planned
To sail no further; now we'll make for land."
We found upon the chart our little bay
And all the reefs that barred our vessel's way.
The wind blew sharply as we went about.
"There's nasty weather coming, it's no doubt."

As we drew near the harbor a small boat
Came bounding towards us. In tarpaulin coat
A fisher, all alone, stood at the wheel.
"Look," cried our skipper, "how would you folks feel
To be there sailing five miles out to sea?
And that's a woman; she's the kind for me.
It's do or die, her children must be fed,
And she must find the food, her man half-dead.
In a rough sea like this, it takes a lot
Of strength to pull in just one lobster pot;
And then to hold your boat, in wind and rain.
That's the best woman on the coast of Maine."
And now her boat shot past us, and we all
Raised a loud cheer, but if she heard our call,
She never turned, nor waved to us her hand.
Against the darkening sky we saw her stand,
Holding her course, drenched by the driving spray.
We watched her till she faded far away.
Abashed we stood, we who had played with life,
Awed by the sudden glimpse of that lone wife;
Like guilty men who silently confess,
Stunned by the thought of our own littleness.





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