And vain was further vigil from its rocks and beaches brown
For never did the fishing-fleet sail back to Gloucester town.
"'Twas fifty years ago. There, child, put back the faded dress,
My winding-sheet of youth and hope, into the oaken press.
My life hath known no other joy, my heart no other glow,
Feeble and worn, it still beats on in faithful love for Joe;
And, like some hulk cast on a shore by waters sore distressed,
I wait until he calls me from his own good place of rest."
She woke at dawn and lifted up her head so old and gray,
And stared across the sandy beach, and o'er the low blue bay.