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From “At Sea” To A. B. G., U. S. S. M.——
| | Far out at sea a sail is drifting— |
| Like a petal, |
| Like a white moth, |
| Like a scrap of paper blown by the wind. |
| |
| O white-petal sail— |
| Like a moth, |
| Like a scrap of paper, |
| Like me! |
| |
| O ebb and flow and infinitude of the sea— |
| As strange, as insurgent, as inevitable |
| As my love! |
MY lover is a sailor. | |
| If he misses me at all | |
| The gold-eyed daisies tell me— | |
| One—two—three—the petals fall. | |
| |
| In some sunny southern harbor, | 5 |
| Where the girls line up to see | |
| Les Americains—“Bonjour, M’sieur!”— | |
| He will pass them by for me. | |
| |
| Every day I greet a sailor | |
| Walking lonely down the street— | 10 |
| Give him cigarettes, a sweater, | |
| Or a box of something sweet; | |
| |
| And I tell him, if he’s thinking | |
| Of a girl somewhere out west, | |
| Not to worry or be lonesome, | 15 |
| Just keep liking her the best. | |
| |
| One—two—three—the daisies tell me, | |
| Four—five—six—the petals drop; | |
| Seven—eight—nine—yes, he still loves me, | |
| He will never, never stop! | 20 |
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| And those black-eyed French cocottes | |
| With strange words upon their lips, | |
| Waiting there with smiles of welcome | |
| For the sailors from the ships— | |
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| Much—a little—not at all— | 25 |
| (He’s so far away, so free!) | |
| Loves me not—but last, he loves me!— | |
| He will pass them by for me. | |
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