The orient beam illumes the parting oar;-- <br />From yonder azure track, emerging white, <br />The earliest sail slow gains upon the sight, <br />And the blue wave comes rippling to the shore. <br />Meantime far off the rear of darkness flies: <br />Yet 'mid the beauties of the morn, unmoved, <br />Like one for ever torn from all he loved, <br />Back o'er the deep I turn my longing eyes, <br />And chide the wayward passions that rebel: <br />Yet boots it not to think, or to complain, <br />Musing sad ditties to the reckless main. <br />To dreams like these, adieu! the pealing bell <br />Speaks of the hour that stays not--and the day <br />To life's sad turmoil calls my heart away.<br /><br />William Lisle Bowles<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-landing-at-ostend/
