  The clouds in woe hang far and dim: I look again and lo Only a faint and shadow line Of shore—I watch it go. The gulls have left the ship and wheel Back to the cliff's gray wraith. Will it be so of all our thoughts When we set sail on Death? And what will the last sight be of life As lone we fare and fast? Grief and the face we love in mist— Then night and awe too vast? Or the dear light of Hope—like that, O see, from the lost shore Kindling and calling "Onward, you Shall reach the Evermore!" |
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