No lights were burning in the distant thorps.

Max laid aside his coat. His mind, half-clear,

Babbled "Christine!" A shot split through the breeze.

The cold stars winked and glittered at his chilling corpse.

Sancta Maria, Succurre Miseris

Dear Virgin Mary, far away,

Look down from Heaven while I pray.

Open your golden casement high,

And lean way out beyond the sky.

I am so little, it may be

A task for you to harken me.

O Lady Mary, I have bought

A candle, as the good priest taught.

I only had one penny, so

Old Goody Jenkins let it go.

It is a little bent, you see.

But Oh, be merciful to me!

I have not anything to give,

Yet I so long for him to live.

A year ago he sailed away

And not a word unto today.

I've strained my eyes from the sea-wall

But never does he come at all.

Other ships have entered port

Their voyages finished, long or short,

And other sailors have received

Their welcomes, while I sat and grieved.

My heart is bursting for his hail,

O Virgin, let me spy his sail.

_Hull down on the edge of a sun-soaked sea

Sparkle the bellying sails for me.

Taut to the push of a rousing wind

Shaking the sea till it foams behind,

The tightened rigging is shrill with the song:

"We are back again who were gone so long."_

One afternoon I bumped my head.

I sat on a post and wished I were dead

Like father and mother, for no one cared

Whither I went or how I fared.

A man's voice said, "My little lad,

Here's a bit of a toy to make you glad."

Then I opened my eyes and saw him plain,

With his sleeves rolled up, and the dark blue stain

Of tattooed skin, where a flock of quail

Flew up to his shoulder and met the tail

Of a dragon curled, all pink and green,

Which sprawled on his back, when it was seen.

He held out his hand and gave to me

The most marvellous top which could ever be.

It had ivory eyes, and jet-black rings,

And a red stone carved into little wings,

All joined by a twisted golden line,

And set in the brown wood, even and fine.

Forgive me, Lady, I have not brought

My treasure to you as I ought,

But he said to keep it for his sake

And comfort myself with it, and take

Joy in its spinning, and so I do.

It couldn't mean quite the same to you.

Every day I met him there,

Where the fisher-nets dry in the sunny air.

He told me stories of courts and kings,

Of storms at sea, of lots of things.

The top he said was a sort of sign

That something in the big world was mine.

_Blue and white on a sun-shot ocean.

Against the horizon a glint in motion.

Full in the grasp of a shoving wind,

Trailing her bubbles of foam behind,

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