Poetry Archives

Away, away, o’er the bounding sea
  My spirit flies like a gull;
For I know my Mary is watching for me,
  And the moon is bright and full.

She sits on the rock by the sounding shore,
  And gazes over the sea;
And she sighs, “Will my sailor-boy come no more?
  Will he never come back to me?”

The moonbeams play in her raven hair;
  And the soft breeze kisses her brow;
But if your sailor-boy, love, were there,
  He would kiss your sweet lips I trow.

And mother—she sits in the cottage-door;
  But her heart is out on the sea;
And she sighs, “Will my sailor-boy come no more?
  Will he never come back to me?”

Ye winds that over the billows roam
  With a low and sullen moan,
O swiftly come to waft me home;
  O bear me back to my own.

For long have I been on the billowy deep,
  On the boundless waste of sea;
And while I sleep there are two who weep,
  And watch and pray for me.

When the mad storm roars till the stoutest fear
  And the thunders roll over the sea,
I think of you, Mary and mother dear,
  For I know you are thinking of me.

Then blow, ye winds, for my swift return;
  Let the tempest roar o’er the main;
Let the billows yearn and the lightning burn;
  They will hasten me home again.