Poems (Jackson)/Outward Bound
For works with similar titles, see Outward Bound.
OUTWARD BOUND.
HE hour has come. Strong hands the anchor raise;Friends stand and weep along the fading shore,In sudden fear lest we return no more,In sudden fancy that he safer staysWho stays behind; that some new danger lays New snare in each fresh path untrod before.Ah, foolish hearts! in fate's mysterious loreIs written no such choice of plan and days:Each hour has its own peril and escape;In most familiar things' familiar shapeNew danger comes without or sight or sound;No sea more foreign rolls than breaks each mornAcross our thresholds when the day is born:We sail, at sunrise, daily, "outward bound."