Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Voyages

It was some times in the late Spring,
    But oftener in the Fall,
When the Gypsy blood woke in you,
    And I would hear you call--
'Oh, put your hand in mine, dear,
    And come along with me;
It's a fair world--a rare world,
    With much for us to see.'

Oh, how you loved the old ships
    From topmasts to the hulls!
And how you loved new harbours,
    And salt winds, and the gulls;
I never hear one crying,
    I never smell the brine--
But I can feel that your hand
    Is reaching out for mine.

You sailed one night in Maytime,
    All secretly, alone.
You went to some new Harbour
    We two had never known.
I called you through the darkness,
    But the wind was from the sea:
My sad cries--my mad cries--
    Were all blown back to me.

But some time in the late Spring,
    Or mayhap in the Fall,
Your ship will be returning
    And I shall hear you call--
'Oh, put your hand in mine, dear,
    And come along with me
To a rare world, a fair world
    Across an Astral sea.'