IN MID-OCEAN.
ACROSS this sea I sail, and do not know What hap awaits me on its farther side,— In these long days what dear hope may have died; What sweet, accustomed joy I must forego; What new acquaintance make with unguessed woe (I, who with sorrow have been long allied,) Or what blest gleam of joy yet undescried Its tender light upon my way will throw.
Thus over Death's unsounded sea we sail, Toward a far, unmapped, unpictured shore, Unwitting what awaits us, bliss or bale, Like the vast multitude that went before, Scourged on by the inexorable gale The everlasting mystery to explore.
AT SEA, 1888.