The Night Sea
by Harriet Elizabeth Prescott Spofford

In the summer even,
While yet the dew was hoar,
I went plucking purple pansies,
Till my love should come to shore.

The fishing lights their dances
Were coming out at sea,
And “Come,” I sung, “my true love,
Come hasten home to me.”

But the sea it fell a-moaning,
And the white gulls rocked thereon,
And the young moon dropped from heaven,
And the lights hid one by one.

And silently their glances
Slipped down the cruel sea,
And, “Wait,” cried the night, and wind, and storm,
“Wait till I come to thee!”