With reckless hand I launched again,
A venture on the treacherous main,
Bound for ambition's dizzy court;
Sailed from a hopeless, loveless port;
With gloomy walls whose silence chilled,
With ghostly haunting memories filled,
With never a breath of the roses dead;
Never a rest for a weary head,
Never a dream of a sweet to be,
Hopeless, loveless still, to me,
My ship came home from sea.
The last, and least, of all the ships
Fashioned with hands, and heart, and lips,
I pushed from shore with its decks untrod
And the freight it bore was my faith in God.
I recked not whither its way, nor when,
Nor how, if ever, 'twould come again,
And this, alone, came back to me,
Rich-laden from the stormy sea.
And so, sweet maiden, while your dreams
Paint fairest all that fairest seems,
I stand with you and watch to-day
The ship that sails form the shore away;
But never a sail from over the sea
The flowing tide will bring to me—
My ships have come from sea.
My ships have come from sea.