All the tides triumph when the white moon fills. Down in the race the toppling waters shout, The breakers shake the bases of the hills, There is a thundering where the streams go out, And the wise shipman puts his ship about Seeing the gathering of those waters wan, But what when love makes high tide in a man?
Jimmy walked home with all his mind on fire, One lovely face for ever set in flame. He shivered as he went, like tautened wire, Surge after surge of shuddering in him came And then swept out repeating one sweet name, ’Anna, O Anna,’ to the evening star. Anna was sipping whiskey in the bar.
So back to home and mother Jimmy wandered, Thinking of Plaister’s End and Anna’s lips. He ate no supper worth the name, but pondered On Plaister’s End hedge, scarlet with ripe hips, And of the lovely moon there in eclipse, And how she must be shining in the house Behind the hedge of those old dog-rose boughs.
Old mother cleared away. The clock struck eight. ’Why, boy, you’ve left your bacon, lawks a me, So that’s what comes of having tea so late, Another time you’ll go without your tea. Your father liked his cup, too, didn’t he, Always "another cup" he used to say, He never went without on any day.
How nice the lady was and how she talked, I’ve never had a nicer fair, not ever.’ ’She said she’d like to see us if we walked To Plaister’s End, beyond by Watersever. Nice-looking woman, too, and that, and clever; We might go round one evening, p’raps, we two; Or I might go, if it’s too far for you.’
’No,’ said the mother, ’we’re not folk for that; Meet at the fair and that, and there an end. Rake out the fire and put out the cat, These fairs are sinful, tempting folk to spend. Of course she spoke polite and like a friend; Of course she had to do, and so I let her, But now it’s done and past, so I forget her.’
’I don’t see why forget her. Why forget her? She treat us kind. She weren’t like everyone. I never saw a woman I liked better, And he’s not easy pleased, my father’s son. So I’ll go round some night when work is done.’ ’Now, Jim, my dear, trust mother, there’s a dear.’ ’Well, so I do, but sometimes you’re so queer.’
She blinked at him out of her withered eyes Below her lashless eyelids red and bleared. Her months of sacrifice had won the prize, Her Jim had come to what she always feared. And yet she doubted, so she shook and peered And begged her God not let a woman take The lovely son whom she had starved to make.