Harp Song of the Dane Women

1 
What is a woman that you forsake her, 
And the hearth-fire and the home-acre. 
To go with the old grey Widow-maker?  
2 
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.  
3 
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.  


4 
Yet, when the signs of summer thicken, 
And the ice breaks, and the birch-buds quicken, 
Yearly you turn from our side, and sicken—  
5 
Sicken again for the shouts and the slaughters. 
You steal away to the lapping waters, 
And look at your ship in her winter-quarters.  
6 
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.  
7 
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.  
8 
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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