A Cry from the Shore

Come down, ye graybeard mariners,   Unto the wasting shore! The morning winds are up,—the gods   Bid me to dream no more. Come tell me whither I must sail,   What peril there may be, Before I take my life in hand   And venture out to sea! “We may not tell thee where to sail,   Nor what the dangers are; Each sailor soundeth for himself,   Each hath a separate star: Each sailor soundeth for himself,   And on the awful sea What we have learned is ours alone;   We may not tell it thee.” Come back, O ghostly mariners,   Ye who have gone before! I dread the dark, impetuous tides;   I dread the farther shore. Tell me the secret of the waves;   Say what my fate shall be,— Quick! for the mighty winds are up,   And will not wait for me. “Hail and farewell, O voyager!   Thyself must read the waves; What we have learned of sun and storm   Lies with us in our graves: What we have learned of sun and storm   Is ours alone to know. The winds are blowing out to sea,   Take up thy life and go!”