Her spirit waves a twinkling white hand,
Her bark is out upon the sea of dream,—
The calm, grey sea, full and immovably established,
That drinks the river of my love, without o’erflowing,
Nor ever gives my image back to me.
When o’er the sun-swept land
Murmuring twilight spread her dusky tent,
A Stranger passed before our friendly sun,—
Between the dark and dawn,—
A Stranger whom we love but never see.