HAST thou made shipwreck of thy happiness? Yet, if God please, Some humble port awaits thee none the less, In nearer seas, Where thou mayst sleep for utter weariness, If not for ease. The haven dreamed of thou shalt never reach, Though gold its gates, And wide and fair the silver of its beach. For sorrow waits To pilot all whose aims too far outreach, Toward darker straits. Yet so no soul divine thou art astray, On this cliff's crown Plant thou a victor flag ere breaks the day Across night's brown, And none shall guess it doth but point the way Where a bark went down. |