Chances and changes, sorrow and strife—
Yet is mine more drear to linger here—
In a ceaseless, changeless war with fear.
I watch the sky by the stars’ pale light,
Till the day-dawn breaketh on gloomy night,
And the wind’s low tone hath a dreary moan
That comes to my heart as I weep alone.
With the morning light, oh! would I could see
Thy white sail far on the breaking sea,
And welcome thee home, o’er the wild wave’s foam,