She stood alone on the wild sea shore,
Her lover was far away,
Yet she watched and waited for his return
Patiently day by day.
"'Tis many a day," I heard her say,
"Since he sailed o'er the dark blue main,
But I'll murmur not, he has not forgot,
I know he will come again."
O'er her brow so fair
Her soft dark hair
Was tossed by the wind so wild,
Yet her eyes so true
Scanned the Ocean's blue
With the faith of a little child.
But no welcome mast
Her vision passed
Though she watched with anxious pain,
And whispered low:
"He will come, I know
Yes, he surely will come again."
The year passed by, her soft dark eye
Grew dim with watching long,
Yet her heart's pure will was constant still,
And her maiden love was strong;
Yet she faded fast, and she died at last,
Her watching all in vain.
From the distant strand, of a foriegn land
Her lover ne'er came again.
O'er her brow so calm
The summer long
The roses bloom so pale,
And the Robin's trill
And the Whip-poor-will
Her early death bewail.
Yet I often dream, in the Twilight's gleam,
I can hear her whisper low:
"I will murmur not, he has not forgot,
He will come again, I know."