 | Poems by Sarah Helen Whitman |  |
76
OUR ISLAND OF DREAMS.
“By the foam
Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.”—
Keats.
Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.”—
Keats.
Tell him I lingered alone on the shore,
Where we parted, in sorrow, to meet never more;
The night wind blew cold on my desolate heart,
But colder those wild words of doom, “Ye must part?”
Where we parted, in sorrow, to meet never more;
The night wind blew cold on my desolate heart,
But colder those wild words of doom, “Ye must part?”
O'er the dark, heaving waters, I sent forth a cry;
Save the wail of those waters there came no reply.
I longed, like a bird, o'er the billows to flee,
From our lone island home and the moan of the sea:
Save the wail of those waters there came no reply.
I longed, like a bird, o'er the billows to flee,
From our lone island home and the moan of the sea:
Away—far away—from the wild ocean shore,
Where the waves ever murmur, “No more, never more;”
Where I wake, in the wild noon of midnight, to hear
That lone song of the surges, so mournful and drear.
Where the waves ever murmur, “No more, never more;”
77
That lone song of the surges, so mournful and drear.
When the clouds that now veil from us heaven's fair light,
Their soft, silver lining turn forth on the night;
When time shall the vapors of falsehood dispel,
He shall know if I loved him; but never how well.
Their soft, silver lining turn forth on the night;
When time shall the vapors of falsehood dispel,
He shall know if I loved him; but never how well.
1849.
| Poems by Sarah Helen Whitman | |