Robert browning. 18 12– 1889
Gray sea and long black land;
Jumping waves
Red curly hair comes out of sleep,
When I pushed forward to reach the bay,
Put out its speed on the muddy beach.
Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach;
Cross three fields until a farm appears;
A tap on the glass, a quick and sharp scraping sound.
And the blue sparks from lit matches,
A not so loud voice, through joy and fear,
More important than two hearts beating each other!
Meet at night
Robert browning
Gray sea, black land;
The yellow half moon is low and big;
Small waves woke them from their sleep,
Jump into a string of fire-woven hair,
The bow pushed into the slippery sediment,
At full throttle, I went to the bay.
A mile of warm sea incense on the beach;
Before the farm appeared, three fields crossed.
Knock on the window, scratch quickly,
A polished match produces a blue flower,
Whispers of fear and love,
Not as loud as two hearts beating each other!