When that hour comes when I shall sit alone,
And ponder on the things that were, but are no more,
The while the weird night-breeze’s dirge-like monotone
Is sobbing fitful anthems round the door;
When homing billows moan and croon unchecked,
And no light glimmers on the ocean’s broad expanse;
When all my anxious hopes are safe in port, or wrecked
On sharp uncharted rocks of circumstance;
When I have lived my life, and Time at last
Displays the mottled fate the sisters three have spun,