When the wind softly sways the azure sea,
⁠My languid spirit kindles at the sight,
⁠And then the land is no more a delight,
Only the mighty main seems sweet to me.

But when the waters in their wrath grow hoar,
⁠And the long rollers rage with curling foam,
⁠I turn again towards my wooded home,
And love to look upon the sea no more.

Ah! sweet the land, and sweet the forest dark,
⁠Whose pines make song, whate'er the wild wind's strife;
⁠And hard, indeed, must be the fisher's life.
Who toils upon the deep, — his home, a bark;

His prey, the roaming fish. But 'tis my lot
⁠Beneath the plane's full leaf at ease to dream.
⁠And thence I love to hear the passing stream,
Whose prattle charms, and can disquiet not.

River that stealeth with such silent pace
⁠Around the city of the dead, where lies
⁠A friend who bore thy name, and whom these eyes
⁠Shall see no more in his accustomed place,
Linger and fold him in thy soft embrace.
⁠And say good-night, for now the western skies
⁠Are red with sunset, and gray mists arise
⁠Like damps that gather on a dead man's face.
Good-night! good-night! as we so oft have said
⁠Beneath this roof at midnight, in the days
⁠That are no more and shall no more return.
Thou hast but taken thy lamp and gone to bed;
⁠I stay a little longer, as one stays
⁠To cover up the embers that still burn.

I saw the long line of the vacant shore.
⁠The seaweed and the shells upon the sand.
⁠And the brown rocks left bare on every hand.
⁠As if the ebbing tide would flow no more.
Then heard I more distinctly than before,
⁠The ocean breathe and its great breast expand,
⁠And hurrying came on the defenceless land
⁠The insurgent waters with tumultuous roar.
All thought and feeling and desire, I said.
⁠Love, laughter, and the exultant joy of song
⁠Have ebbed from me forever! Suddenly o'er me
They swept again from their deep ocean bed,
⁠And in a tumult of delight, and strong
⁠As youth, and beautiful as youth, upbore me.

As, one by one, these autumn leaves, descending
⁠⁠⁠To droop and die,
In rustled murmurs, breathe one soft unending
⁠⁠⁠Sad threnody,
Till branch and bough, whereon no vestige lingers
⁠⁠⁠Of summer bloom.
Trace out upon the sky, with withered fingers.
⁠⁠⁠Their wintry doom:

So, one by one, these earthly hopes we cherish —
⁠⁠⁠More dearly prized.
Perchance, than Heaven itself — fall off and perish
⁠⁠⁠Unrealized,
And leave us, with life's winter o'er us stealing.
⁠⁠⁠And skies o'ercast,
With bared and outstretched arms for help appealing
⁠⁠⁠To Heaven at last.

Gray distance hid each shining sail
⁠By ruthless breezes borne from me;
And lessening, fading, faint and pale,
⁠My ships went forth to sea.

Where misty breakers rose and fell
⁠I stood and cowered hopelessly;
For every wave had tales to tell
⁠Of wrecks far out at sea.

To-day a song is on my lips;
⁠Earth seems a paradise to me;
For God is good, and lo! my ships
⁠Are coming home from sea.