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Like a Worn Gray-Haired Mariner.
Like a worn gray-haired mariner whom the sea
Hath wrecked, then flung in mockery ashore,
To clamber some gaunt cliff, and list the roar
Of wave pursuing wave unceasingly ;
His native land, dear home, and toil-won store
Inexorably severed from his sight;
His sole companions Hopelessness and Grief—
Who feels his day will soon be mirkest night—
Who from its close alone expects relief—
Praying life’s sands, in pity, to descend
And rid him of life’s burden,—So do I
Gaze on the world, and time fast surging by,
Drifting away each hope with each tried friend—
Leaving behind a waste where desolate I may die.
