21.06.2007, 20:30
STRAIGHT ON TO PORT.
STRAIGHT through the sea-foam and the awful sea,
And winds that battle round us day and night,
Till the pale moon hides her white face in fright,
The ship that bears my longing heart and me
Fares toward that port where waiting loved ones be,
And on the hearth of home the fire is bright;
There wistful eyes shall be made glad with sight,
And perils past forgotten joyfully.
So, through long nights, and brief, sad winter days,
Or summer's short-lived triumphs, or young springs,
Or autumn's wind-blown, melancholy ways,
My soul bears onward to her haven far,
Beyond the utmost sea's dim harbor-bar,
There to forget what storms have bruised her wings.
AT SEA, 1884.
STRAIGHT through the sea-foam and the awful sea,
And winds that battle round us day and night,
Till the pale moon hides her white face in fright,
The ship that bears my longing heart and me
Fares toward that port where waiting loved ones be,
And on the hearth of home the fire is bright;
There wistful eyes shall be made glad with sight,
And perils past forgotten joyfully.
So, through long nights, and brief, sad winter days,
Or summer's short-lived triumphs, or young springs,
Or autumn's wind-blown, melancholy ways,
My soul bears onward to her haven far,
Beyond the utmost sea's dim harbor-bar,
There to forget what storms have bruised her wings.
AT SEA, 1884.