Book III
Across the scarce-awakened sea,
With white sail flowing,
And morning glowing,
I come to thee—I come to thee.
Past lonely beaches,
And gleaming reaches,
And long reefs foaming,
Homing—homing—
A-done with roaming,
I come to thee.
The moon is failing,
A petal sailing
Down in the west
That bends o’er thee;
And the stars are hiding,
As we go gliding
Back to the nest,
Ah! back to thee.