Archibald Sullivan (1886–1921)

THERE is a Mermaid in the Bay

And she hath called me forth to sup

To eat the white flesh of the moon

And drain the tide from out her cup,

Her table is amid the rocks

And all the day her arms swing free

A-gathering in the threads o’ foam

To weave a supper cloth for me.

There is a Mermaid in the Bay

And she hath trapped the phantom gulls

And caught the silver fish that dart

Like coins through the ship-wrecked hulls.

But loud she calls ‘What boots a feast

That shows no cloth whereon to spread

The scarlet sunset of my wine,

The pallid starlight of my bread?’

There is a Mermaid in the Bay

And from this golden lip of land

I watch her labouring ’mid the foam

With seaweed hair and pearly hand,

Though all the waves like caravans

Bring silver threads and tapestry,

Each one draws back its merchandise

And seeks the desert of the sea.

There is a Mermaid in the Bay,

But till her supper cloth is done,

Pale fringed with tassels of the dawn

Gold hemmed with threads of summer sun,

God wots I wait her on the land,

Until I hear the seaweeds stir

And know it is His saintly will

I should go forth to sup with her.