At Anchor
While pale with rage the wild surf springs
Athwart the harbour bar,
The safe ships fold their snowy wings,
Beneath the evening star,
In this calm haven rocked to sleep,
All night they swing and sway,
Till mantles o'er the morning deep
The golden blush of day.
Here, safe from every storm of fate,
From worldly strife and scorn,
Thus let me fold my hands and wait
The coming of the morn;
While all night long, o'er moon-lit turf,
The wind brings in from far
The moaning of the baffled surf
Athwart the harbour bar.