Sun in my lattice, and sun on the sea
( Oh, but the sun is fair ),
And a sky of blue and a sea of green,
And a ship with a white, white sail between,
And a light wind blowing free —
And back from the stern, and forth from the land,
The last farewell of a waving hand.
Mist on the window and mist on the sea
( Oh, but the mist is gray ),
And the weird, tall shape of a spectral mast
Gleams out of the fog like a ghost of my past,
And the old hope stirs in me —
The old, old hope that warred with doubt,
While the years with the tides surged in and out.
Rain on my window and rain on the sea
( Oh, but the rain is sad ),
And only the dreams of a vanished barque
And a vanished youth shine through the dark,
And torture the night and me.
But somewhere, I think, near some fair strand,
That lost ship lies with its waving hand.