The bare horizon for a sail,—because
There is no sail on this side of the earth.
’Tis mad to hope—and surely Hope is dead?
I have killed hope so many aching days,
By myriad hopeless nights has she been slain,
Till I have learned that she is really dead....
And yet, and yet,—she has a terrible ghost!
I have learned too that it is very mad
To rail at Fate, or at the sea or sand,
To curse the coming in or going out