Page:The complete poems of Emily Bronte.djvu/367

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ancient ship upon my ancient sea

Begins another voyage—nay, they're gone;

And whither wending? who is gone with thee?

Since parted from thee I am left alone,

Unknowing what my river's fate may be,

Into its native world of tempests thrown.

Lost like the spectres once my eye before,

Which wilder visions muster'd to my mind;

Lost and unnoticed far away the roar

Of southern waters breaking to the wind,

With thunder volleys rolling on before

As the wild gale sweeps wilder on behind,

And every vision of old Afric's shore

As much forgot and vanished out of mind

As the wild track thou makest so long ago

From those eternal waves that surge below.

Gone!—'tis a word which through life's troubled waste

Seems always coming, and the only one

Which can be called the present. Hope is past,

And hate and strife, and love and peace are gone

Before we think them, for their rapid haste

Scarce gives us time for one short smile or groan

Ere that thought dies and new ones come between

It, and our senses like to fleeting suns.