SEVEN days we sought the horizon line, elate, Without a sea-born doubt of things to come, Then on the eighth, upon the sill of home, A fog, not of the sea, fell with a weight Upon our spirits. Where was noon's rich freight Of summer cheer, the darkness spoke of doom, Till thoughts familiar did such dole assume We could but cling before the coming fate. In port -- what greeting? From beloved lips The same "All's well!" that could not charm our woe Chanted an ocean litany against harm; Our happiness swung forth from fear's eclipse. Alas! upon a fearless friend the blow Fell like first lightning from long-gathered storm. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EPITAPH ON A HARE by WILLIAM COWPER LAYS OF FRANCE: SONG (2) by MARIE DE FRANCE SONNET ON CATHERINE WORDSWORTH by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH EPITAPH ON TWO YOUNG MEN NAMED LEITCH IN CROSSING THE RIVER SOUTHESK by JAMES BEATTIE ON THE FUNERAL OF CHARLES I; AT NIGHT, IN ST. GEORGE'S CHAPEL, WINDSOR by WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES |