It was the hour when mists depart and midnight phantoms flee,
The rosy sun was blushing red along the splendid sea.
A rapture lit her face. "The bay is white with sails!" she cried,
"They sweep it like the silver foam of waves at rising tide—
Sails from an unknown sea. Oh, haste and bring my wedding-gown—
It is the long-lost fishing-fleet come back to Gloucester town!
And look! his Nan leads all the rest. Dear Lord, I see my Joe!
He beckons from her shining deck—haste, friends, for I must go.
The old, old light is in his eyes, the old smile on his lips;
All grand and pale he stands among the crowding, white-winged ships.