Free Delivery Australia Wide.

7 Day Satisfaction Guarantee

0
Trustpilot
The Soul Of A Fisherman
  • The Soul Of A Fisherman
  • The Soul Of A Fisherman 5
  • The Soul Of A Fisherman 3
  • The Soul Of A Fisherman

Additional Information

The Soul Of A Fisherman by Meg Lewer – I always accompany my paintings with a poem and this one from Isabel Ecclestone Mackay 1892 describes our trip to Cornwall perfectly.

“Down at the docks—when the smoke clouds lie,
Wind-ript and red, on an angry sky—
Coal-dumps and derricks and piled-up bales,
Tar and the gear of forgotten sails,
Rusted chains and a broken spar
(Yesterday’s breath on the things that are)

A lone, black cat and a snappy cur,
Smell of high-tide and of newcut fir,
Smell of low-tide, fish, weed!—
I swear I love every blessed smell that’s there—
For, aeons ago when the sea began,
My soul was the soul of a fisherman.

Down at the docks—when the morning’s new
And the air is gold and the distance blue,
There’s a pull at the heart! But best of all..
Is to see the sun shrink, red and small,
While the fog steals in (more surely fleet
Than the smacks that run from her white-shod feet)

And clamours of startled calls arise
From bewildered ships that have lost their eyes;
The fog horn bellows its deep-mouthed shout,
The little lights on the shore blur out…
And strange, dim shapes pass wistfully…
With a secret tide to a secret sea.”

Certificate of authenticity.

The Soul Of A Fisherman

Meg Lewer

AUD$1,580
Size: 45w x 60h x 2d cms
View in my room

×
Powered by

Acrylic and inks with mixed media on board
Professionally framed in charcoal wood and wide white matt
Ready to hang

Sold

Add to Wishlist
Add to Wishlist
Sold By: Meg Lewer

Love this

7 day returns guaranteed
Free Shipping Returns and refunds
Trustpilot

Additional Information

The Soul Of A Fisherman by Meg Lewer – I always accompany my paintings with a poem and this one from Isabel Ecclestone Mackay 1892 describes our trip to Cornwall perfectly.

“Down at the docks—when the smoke clouds lie,
Wind-ript and red, on an angry sky—
Coal-dumps and derricks and piled-up bales,
Tar and the gear of forgotten sails,
Rusted chains and a broken spar
(Yesterday’s breath on the things that are)

A lone, black cat and a snappy cur,
Smell of high-tide and of newcut fir,
Smell of low-tide, fish, weed!—
I swear I love every blessed smell that’s there—
For, aeons ago when the sea began,
My soul was the soul of a fisherman.

Down at the docks—when the morning’s new
And the air is gold and the distance blue,
There’s a pull at the heart! But best of all..
Is to see the sun shrink, red and small,
While the fog steals in (more surely fleet
Than the smacks that run from her white-shod feet)

And clamours of startled calls arise
From bewildered ships that have lost their eyes;
The fog horn bellows its deep-mouthed shout,
The little lights on the shore blur out…
And strange, dim shapes pass wistfully…
With a secret tide to a secret sea.”

Certificate of authenticity.

...View all Artworks by Meg Lewer

Other artworks you might like

Shop now Art Lovers Shop Shop now Instagram Facebook Twitter