George Pope Morris

The Tyrant Sway

The heart that owns thy tyrant sway,
  Whate'er its hopes may be,
Is like a bark that drifts away
  Upon a shoreless sea!
No compass left to guide her on,
Upon the surge she's tempest-torn—
  And such is life to me!

And what is life when love is fled?
  The world, unshared by thee?
I'd rather slumber with the dead,
  Than such a waif to be!
The bark that by no compass steers
Is lost, which way soe'er she veers—
  And such is life to me!