Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/Ships at Sea

Ships at Sea.

I have ships that went to sea More than fifty years ago,None have yet come home to me, But keep sailing to and fro.I have seen them in my sleepPlunging through the shoreless deep,With tattered sails and battered hulls,While around them screamed the gulls,        Flying low, flying low.

I have wondered why they stayedFrom me sailing round the world,And I've said, "I'm half-afraidThat their sails will ne'er be furled." Great the treasures that they hold,Silks, and plumes, and bars of gold,While the spices which they bearFill with fragrance all the air,        As they sail, as they sail.

Every sailor in the port Knows that I have ships at sea,Of the waves and winds the sport, And the sailors pity me.Oft they come and with me walk,Cheering me with hopeful talk,Till I put my fears aside,And contented watch the tide        Rise and fall, rise and fall.

I have waited on the piers, Gazing for them down the bay,Days and nights, for many years, Till I turned heart-sick away.But the pilots, when they land,Stop and take me by the hand,Saying, "You will live to seeYour proud vessels come from sea,        One and all, one and all."

So I never quite despair, Nor let hope or courage fail,And some day, when skies are fair, Up the bay my ships will sail.I can buy then all I need,Prints to look at, books to read,Horses, wines, and works of art,Everything except a heart—        That is lost, that is lost.

Once, when I was pure and young, Poorer, too, than I am now,Ere a cloud was o'er me flung, Or a wrinkle creased my brow,There was one whose heart was mine,But she's sometflipg now divine,And, though come my ships from sea,They can bring no heart to me,        Evermore, evermore.