Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.
By WilliamWinter663 On the Verge
O
The wide, wild sea, that no man knows!
The wind is chill, the surge is white,
And I must sail that sea to-night.
On many a mile of iron shore,
The waves are livid in their wrath,
And no man knows the ocean path.
I must not heed, though tempest rave;
My course is set, my hour is known,
And I must front the dark, alone.
This is no night for ships to sail!
The hungry wind is moaning low,
The storm is up—you shall not go!
It is a sound more dread and drear,
A voice that calls across the tide,
A voice that will not be denied.
Your looks grow sudden gray and old,
The lights burn dim, the casements shake,—
Ah, stay a little, for my sake!
This many a year is cold and dead,
And through that darkness, grim and black,
I shall but follow on its track.
That e’er were dreamed or understood,
For they shall all the Past requite,
So you but shun the sea to-night!
One tender thought of them or me,—
For on the way that I must wend
I dread no harm and need no friend!
Athwart the gray cathedral wall,
While o’er its tombs of old renown
The rose-leaves softly flutter down.
One relic now from Memory’s grave,
And, be it sun or moon or star,
The light that falls must follow far!
The ivy, flushed with sunset gold,
The dew-drenched roses, in their sleep,
That seemed to smile, and yet to weep.
There ’ll be the end of every pain;
There ’ll be no parting to deplore,
Nor love nor sorrow any more.
The barge in twilight drifting slow,
While o’er the daisied meadow swells
The music of the vesper bells.
The night wears on—I must not stay!
My canvas strains before the gale—
My cables part, and I must sail!
He does not move—his lips are dumb.—
Ah, God receive, on shores of light,
The shattered ship that sails to-night!