The harbour lights are dim with smoke
Which hangs about the under sky,
And wraps the simple fisher-folk
In lurid mist as they go by.
Along the shore the wind blows free,
Keen twilight kisses the wan sea
Far out; steer thither, watch with me
The tender stars come out on high.

II.

The sky is deepening overhead:
The sail flaps loose: the wind has died:
The water laps the boat like lead:
Faint ripples plash against the side,
And shimmer with unearthly light,
The harbour lamps are out of sight;
We drift into a starless night
Together on the ebbing tide.

III.

How still—how strange—the tide is slack,
We eddy round—we drift no more.
What swell is this which sweeps us back
To where the gathering breakers roar?
About the pale unlighted land?
Can any tell if we shall stand
Safe in the morning hand in hand
Upon the steep and rock-bound shore?