Arthur Hugh Clough (1819–1861)

AS ships, becalm’d at eve, that lay

With canvas drooping, side by side,

Two towers of sail at dawn of day

Are scarce, long leagues apart, descried;

When fell the night, upsprung the breeze,

And all the darkling hours they plied,

Nor dreamt but each the self-same seas

By each was cleaving, side by side:

E’en so—but why the tale reveal

Of those, whom year by year unchanged,

Brief absence join’d anew to feel,

Astounded, soul from soul estranged?

At dead of night their sails were fill’d,

And onward each rejoicing steer’d—

Ah, neither blame, for neither will’d,

Or wist, what first with dawn appear’d!

To veer, how vain! On, onward strain,

Brave barks! In light, in darkness too,

Thro’ winds and tides one compass guides,—

To that, and your own selves, be true.

But O blithe breeze! and O great seas,

Though ne’er, that earliest parting past,

On your wide plain they join again,

Together lead them home at last.

One port, methought, alike they sought,

One purpose hold where’er they fare,—

O bounding breeze, O rushing seas,

At last, at last, unite them there!