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by [?]

On the shore I sit and gaze
Out on the twilight sea,
For my ship may come, though many days
I have waited patiently;
With waiting trusting eyes,
A lonely watch I keep
For its silver sails to rise
Like a blossom out of the deep.

It is built of a costly wood,
Bearing the strange perfume
Of the gorgeous solitude,
Where it grew in tropical gloom;
And the odorous scent, the spicy balm
Of its isle it will bear to me,
As I stand on the shore, in the magic calm.
And my ship come in from sea.

It is laden with all that is sweet
Of the beauty of every clime;
Slowly and proudly ’twill glide to my feet
In the eve of that fair “Sometime,”
Before me its sails will be furled,
A princess I shall be,
Crowned with the wealth of the world,
When my ship comes in from sea.

Sweet faces I then shall see,
Tender, undoubting, true,
Soft hands will be stretched to me
With a welcome I never knew;
In the peace of such tenderness
I shall rest forevermore,
And weep in my perfect bliss,
As I never wept before.

Sometimes I think it is not far
And I bend my head and list,
For I think I see a slender spar
Gleam through the golden mist;
And I fancy I hear the sound
Of wind in a silken sail,
And an odor rare from Eastern ground,
Floats in on the languid gale.

But I sit and watch the west
Till the sun goes down, in vain;
It was only a cloud with an ivory crest,
A cloud of vapor and rain;
It rises and hides the sea,
And my heart grows chill and numb,
Lest this terrible thing should be,
That my ship will never come.

But the morn is bright–the wave
Is a golden and shining track,
Softly the waters the white sands lave,
And my trusting faith comes back;
Oh, all that I ever lost,
And all that I long to be,
Will be mine when the deep is crossed,
And my ship comes home from sea.