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A. Conan Doyle. By the North Sea

Arthur Conan Doyle

 

         BY THE NORTH SEA

Her cheek was wet with North Sea spray,

We walked where tide and shingle meet;

The long waves rolled from far away

To purr in ripples at our feet.

And as we walked it seemed to me

That three old friends had met that day,

The old, old sky, the old, old sea,

And love, which is as old as they.

 

Out seaward hung the brooding mist

We saw it rolling, fold on fold,

And marked the great Sun alchemist

Turn all its leaden edge to gold,

Look well, look well, oh lady mine,

The gray below, the gold above,

For so the grayest life may shine

All golden in the light of love.

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alchemist ['ælkəmɪst] – алхимик

gray (амер.) = grey