At last, dear love, the day is gone, The doors are barred--the lamps are lit, The couch beside the fire is drawn, The nook whore thou wert wont to sit;
Where shall we write your names, ye brave! Where build for you a monument, Who lie in many a sylvan grave, Stretched half across the continent! Young, bright and brave, the very flower...
Oh Sea, that with infinite sadness, and infinite yearning Liftest thy crystal forehead toward the unpitying stars,-- Evermore ebbing and flowing, and evermore returning...
I never looked upon thy face; I never saw thy dwelling-place; My home is by Lake Erie's shore, Beyond Niagara's distant roar; And thine where ships at anchor ride, By fair St. Lawrence's rolling tide,...