I did not ask to sail this sea so broad and deep,
Whose restless waves forever rise and fall
And know no peace, but murmur even in their sleep
The answer to some dim and far-off call.

At times it bares its bosom to the morning light
And ravishes itself in wealth of gold,
And seems to seek the embrace of the morning’s might
And yearns to keep such strength within its hold.

Again when o’er its deep a storm sweeps fierce and wild,
Is all the booming and the high-tossed wave
Resistance to the storm? Or is it, like a child,
So helpless that it has no strength to save?

I cannot trace its moods, its temper, or its life.
Enough to know it stretches far and wide­—
To me an unsolved mystery of peace and strife,
And I must sail an unknown path whate’er betide.

The tiny boat in which I sail is very frail,
No other sailor knows this shallow bark,
I must not look upon its worn and tattered sail,
But bravely man it while I sing through all the dark.

This little craft is but a wreck—I found it so.
I’ve seen its caving hold, and know its bending bow.
I’ve walked its creaking deck and viewed its beams below,
But I must sing while waves dash high against its prow.

Ships come and go. Some laden with most costly gifts,
While others seem like dream-ships frail and fair,
With perfect mast and full-blown sails where sunlight sifts,
And passing, one hears music in the air.

I try to clear my deck of phantoms who would seek
To pace these well-worn planks and question me.
What broke this vessel so and made it leak?
And whither go these ships, and whence this strange, deep sea?

So frail my ship, it cannot bear their weight along,
Self-pity soon would join and sink us low.
So I must clear my deck and lift my song,
I must not ask why ships may come or go.

L’Envoi

If sweeter music may be made through tattered sail,
And ships be helped, though stronger they may be,
Lift high your song, O heart of mine, you must not fail,
Though wrecked, you have a voyage to make upon this sea.