Shore Roads Of April

What do I see and hear of an April morning?
Many a ridge and furrow, headland and bay,
Many a ship bound seaward, white at dawning,
Many a young lad singing a ship away.

Faces I see, ah, there were a' many women!
All wreathed in their gossam hair, with waiting lips,
And there were eyes ashine, and tears a-brimming,
And there were lads following the calling ships.

I see them yet, long roads by the sea cliffs wending,
I hear the songs of birds, sweet flowers I smell,
I hear a lad who whispers of love unending,
I hear the roll of the shoreward running swell.

A little silk scarf, a pair of earrings swinging,
A sliver ring, an indolent peacock fan,
Down at the foreshore cold iron ship bells ringing,
And laughing lips of an outbound sailorman.

What do I see and hear of an April morning?
Many a ridge and furrow, headland and bay,
Many a ship bound seaward, bright at dawning,
Many a young lad singing a ship away.