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!”
A Cry from the Shore
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