Over the silent sea of sleep, Far away! far away! Over a strange and starlit deep Where the beautiful shadows sway; Dim in the dark, Glideth a bark, Where never the waves of a tempest roll -- Bearing the very "soul of a soul", Alone, all alone -- Far away -- far away To shores all unknown In the wakings of the day; To the lovely land of dreams, Where what is meets with what seems Brightly dim, dimly bright; Where the suns meet stars at night, Where the darkness meets the light Heart to heart, face to face, In an infinite embrace. * * * * * Mornings break, And we wake, And we wonder where we went In the bark Thro' the dark, But our wonder is misspent; For no day can cast a light On the dreamings of the night. Lines ["Sometimes, from the far-away,"] Sometimes, from the far-away, Wing a little thought to me; In the night or in the day, It will give a rest to me. I have praise of many here, And the world gives me renown; Let it go -- give me one tear, 'Twill be a jewel in my crown. What care I for earthly fame? How I shrink from all its glare! I would rather that my name Would be shrined in some one's prayer. Many hearts are all too much, Or too little in their praise; I would rather feel the touch Of one prayer that thrills all days. A Song Written in an Album. Pure faced page! waiting so long To welcome my muse and me; Fold to thy breast, like a mother, the song That floats from my spirit to thee. And song! sound soft as the streamlet sings, And sweet as the Summer's birds, And pure and bright and white be the wings That will waft thee into words. Yea! fly as the sea-birds fly over the sea To rest on the far-off beach, And breathe forth the message I trust to thee, Tear toned on the shores of speech. But ere you go, dip your snowy wing In a wave of my spirit's deep -- In a wave that is purest -- then haste and bring A song to the hearts that weep. Oh! bring it, and sing it -- its notes are tears; Its octaves, the octaves of grief; Who knows but its tones in the far-off years May bring to the lone heart relief? Yea! bring it, and sing it -- a worded moan That sweeps thro' the minors of woe, With mystical meanings in every tone, And sounds like the sea's lone flow. * * * * * And the thoughts take the wings of words, and float Out of my spirit to thee; But the song dies away into only one note, And sounds but in only one key. And the note! 'tis the wail of the weariest wave That sobs on the loneliest shore; And the key! never mind, it comes out of a grave; And the chord! -- 'tis a sad "nevermore". And just like the wavelet that moans on the beach, And, sighing, sinks back to the sea, So my song -- it just touches the rude shores of speech, And its music melts back into me.