A Poor French Sailor’s Scottish Sweetheart

I CANNOT forget my Joe,
 I bid him be mine in sleep;
But battle and woe have changed him so
 There ’s nothing to do but weep.
 
My mother rebukes me yet,
 And I never was meek before;
His jacket is wet, his lip cold set,
 He ’ll trouble our home no more.
 
Oh, breaker of reeds that bend!
 Oh, quencher of tow that smokes!
I ’d rather descend to my sailor friend
 Than prosper with lofty folks.
 
I ’m lying beside the gowan,
 My Joe in the English bay;
I ’m Annie Rowan, his Annie Rowan,
 He called me his Bien-Aimée.
 
I ’ll hearken to all you quote,
 Though I ’d rather be deaf and free;
The little he wrote in the sinking boat
 Is Bible and charm for me.

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"A Poor French Sailor’s Scottish Sweetheart" Poetry.net. STANDS4 LLC, 2019. Web. 22 Apr. 2019. <https://www.poetry.net/poem/40822/a-poor-french-sailor’s-scottish-sweetheart>.

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