Ears in the turrets¹ hear

　　Hands grumble² on the door，

　　Eyes in the gables see

　　The fingers at the locks.

　　Shall I unbolt or stay

　　Alone till the day I die

　　Unseen by stranger-eyes

　　In this white house？

　　Hands， hold you poison or grapes？

　　Beyond this island bound

　　By a thin sea of flesh

　　And a bone coast，

　　The land lies out of sound

　　And the hills out of mind.

　　No birds or flying fish

　　Disturbs this island's rest.

　　Ears in this island hear

　　The wind pass like a fire，

　　Eyes in this island see

　　Ships anchor off the bay.

　　Shall I run to the ships

　　With the wind in my hair，

　　Or stay till the day I die

　　And welcome no sailor？

　　Ships， hold you poison or grapes？

　　Hands grumble on the door，

　　Ships anchor off the bay，

　　Rain beats the sand and slates³.

　　Shall I let in the stranger，

　　Shall I welcome the sailor，

　　Or stay till the day I die？

　　Hands of the stranger and holds of the ships，

　　Hold you poison or grapes？