Phillips Stewart (1864–1892)

IN shadowy calm the boat

Sleeps by the dreaming oar,

The green hills are afloat

Beside the silver shore.

Youth hoists the white-winged sail,

Love takes the longing oar—

The oft-told fairy tale

Beside the silver shore.

Soft lip to lip, and heart

To heart, and hand to hand,

And wistful eyes depart

Unto another strand.

And lovely as a star

They tremble o’er the wave,

With eager wings afar

Unto the joys they crave.

In a sweet trance they fare

Unto the wind and rain,

With wind-tossed waves of hair,

And ne’er return again.

And at the drifting side,

Changed faces in the deep

They see, and changing tide,

Like phantoms in a sleep.

Slow hands furl the torn sail

Without one silver gleam,

And sad, and wan, and pale,

They gaze into a dream.