Now the starry night is gone, And the tender glow of dawn Gilds the lightly-flowing fountain And the music-breathing Faun; Yet what is it, as we wake, That impels us to forsake All the glory of the garden And the glamor of the lake? There is softness in the air, There is beauty everywhere, And the charm of ancient story Makes the scene divinely fair; Yet at last the splendor pales, And the light that lured us fails, And we long to see the zephyrs Fill our homeward-curving sails. For, awaiting you and me, Headed boldly for the sea, Is a ship that strains her cable In her efforts to be free; Sailing homeward? Let us go! If propitious breezes blow, We shall reach again the country Of our childhood . . . long ago! |