And the old brig's sails unfurl'd;
I said: "I will sail to my love this night,
At the other side of the world."
I stepp'd aboard—we sail'd so fast—
The sun shot up from the bourn;
But a dove that perch'd upon the mast
Did mourn, and mourn, and mourn.
O fair dove! O fond dove!
And dove with the white, white breast—
Let me alone, the dream is my own,