Lo! when the sun was half dropt in the west,
As wing-weary sea birds seeking their night-rest,
They drifted in upon the harbor's breast.
None knew from whence they came, or where they sailed;
No betraying pennon from their mastheads trailed;
They answered not when they were loudly hailed.
When the day into the night had died
They clustered on the ebbing tide,
Like sleeping sea swans, side by side.
The warders at the midnight hour,
Within the shadow of the tower,

Watched their lanterns rise and lower.
Ere scarce the day and earth had wed,
Their oars on either side they spread,
Shook out their sails and southward fled.
And when the sun shot up across the bay,
Naught showed where they had made their stay,
Save the broken corals where their anchors lay.
So into my heart at eventide
Ofttimes a fleet of dreams will glide,
And all night long at anchor ride.
From whence they come, or where they go,
What pain or joy their forms foreshow,
I dare not ask—I cannot know.
But when dawn breaks o'er sea and mart,
With rippling oars and yearning sails they start,

Leaving their anchor marks upon my heart.