Over the water, polished 
Pitch bright in the darkness, 
The funnel dipping, the lantern 
Swinging: yellow, a stripe 
Falling across the cabin's 
Cosy shabbiness, cutting 
Out of the shadows a worn 
Face, and a blackened pipe. 

Soft incessant insistent 
Puffs of steam in the offing. 
Close, on the quay, a sailor 
Turns an indifferent stare 
From his business of pumping; 
Water flushes the planks, and 
Ceasing, quiet swallows 
The simple scene like air. 

No more. This was sufficient 
To give fabulous midnight 
Earnest intimate glory. 
River and lantern webbed 
The men, the tug, the moorage 
In a steady fluxion, 
As the heart swelled, throbbing, 
The short hour ebbed.