My Bark is Out Upon the Sea.

My bark is out upon the sea--
            The moon's above;
Her light a presence seems to me
            Like woman's love.
My native land I've left behind--
            Afar I roam;
In other climes no hearts I'll find
            Like those at home.

Of all yon sisterhood of stars,
            But one is true:
She paves my path with silver bars,
            And beams like you,
Whose purity the waves recall
            In music's flow,
As round my bark they rise and fall
            In liquid snow.

The fresh'ning breeze now swells our sails!
            A storm is on!
The weary moon's dim lustre fails--
            The stars are gone!
Not so fades Love's eternal light
            When storm-clouds weep;
I know one heart's with me to-night
            Upon the deep!

George Pope Morris

George Pope Morris was an American editor, poet, and songwriter. Born on October 10, 1802, he made significant contributions to American literature and music. Morris co-founded and edited the New York Evening Mirror, where he published works by Edgar Allan Poe and others. He is perhaps best known for his song "Woodman, Spare That Tree!" and his role in the early 19th-century literary scene. Morris died on July 6, 1864, leaving behind a legacy of editorial and creative work that influenced many American writers and musicians.

George Pope Morris

Lord of the Castle.

George Pope Morris, Simple Poetry

The Sycamore Shade.

George Pope Morris, Simple Poetry

Woman.

George Pope Morris, Simple Poetry

The Beam of Devotion.

George Pope Morris, Simple Poetry

English

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I'm With You Once Again.

I'm with you once again, my friends,
No more my footsteps roam;
Where it began my journey ends,
Amid the scenes of home.
No other clime has skies so blue,
Or streams so broad and clear,
And where are hearts so warm and true
As those that meet me here?

Since last with spirits, wild and free,
I pressed my native strand,
I've wandered many miles at sea,
And many miles on land.
I've seen fair realms of the earth
By rude commotion torn,
Which taught me how to prize the worth
Of that where I was born.

In other countries, when I heard
The language of my own,
How fondly each familiar word
Awoke an answering tone!
But when our woodland songs were sung
Upon a foreign mart,
The vows that faltered on the tongue
With rapture t...

George Pope Morris

The Star of Love.

The star of love now shines above,
    Cool zephyrs crisp the sea;
Among the leaves the wind-harp weaves
    Its serenade for thee.
The star, the breeze, the wave, the trees,
    Their minstrelsy unite,
But all are drear till thou appear
    To decorate the night.

The light of noon streams from the moon,
    Though with a milder ray
O'er hill and grove, like woman's love,
    It cheers us on our way.
Thus all that's bright--the moon, the night,
    The heavens, the earth, the sea,
Exert their powers to bless the hours
    We dedicate to thee.

George Pope Morris

Look From Thy Lattice, Love.

Look from thy lattice, love--
    Listen to me!
The cool, balmy breeze
    Is abroad on the sea!
The moon, like a queen,
    Roams her realms above,
And naught is awake
    But the spirit of love.
Ere morn's golden light
    Tips the hills with its ray,
Away o'er the waters--
    Away and away!
Then look from thy lattice, love--
    Listen to me.
While the moon lights the sky,
    And the breeze curls the sea!
Look from thy lattice, love--
    Listen to me!
In the voyage of life,
    Love our pilot will be!
He'll sit at the helm
    Wherever we rove,
And steer by the load-star
    He kindled above!
His gem-girdled shallop
    Will cut the bright spray,
Or skim, like a bird,
    O'er the waters away!
T...

George Pope Morris

The Lock Of Hair.

It is in sooth a lovely tress,
    Still curled in many a ring,
As glossy as the plumes that dress
    The raven's jetty wing.
And the broad and soul-illumined brow,
    Above whose arch it grew,
Was like the stainless mountain snow,
    In its purity of hue.

I mind the time 'twas given to me,
    The night, the hour, the spot;
And the eye that pleaded silently,
    "Forget the giver not."
Oh! myriads of stars, on high,
    Were smiling sweetly fair,
But none was lovely as the eye
    That shone beside me there!

Above our heads an ancient oak
    Its strong, wide arms held out,
And from its roots a fountain broke,
    With a tiny laughing shout;
And the fairy people of the wild
    Were bending to their rest,
As trusti...

George W. Sands

I Love the Night.

I love the night when the moon streams bright
    On flowers that drink the dew--
When cascades shout as the stars peep out,
    From boundless fields of blue;
But dearer far than moon or star,
    Or flowers of gaudy hue,
Or murmuring trills of mountain-rills,
    I love, I love, love--you!

I love to stray at the close of the day,
    Through groves of forest-trees,
When gushing notes from song-birds' throats
    Are vocal in the breeze.
I love the night--the glorious night--
    When hearts beat warm and true;
But far above the night, I love,
    I love, I love, love--you!

George Pope Morris

The Missing Ship.

She left the port in gallant style,
    With sails and streamers full and free!
I watched her course for many a mile
    Far out upon the distant sea!
At dusk she lessened to a speck,
    And then I could not trace her more!
Sad hearts were beating on her deck,
    Sad hearts were beating on the shore.

Two of the outward bound I knew,
    One beautiful, the other brave--
The master worthy, and the crew
    Born to contend with wind and wave:
For travel some, and some for gain,
    And some for health had gone abroad;
Our prayers were with them on the main,
    God-speed the ship and all on board!

That vessel never reached the land!
    No tidings of her ever came!
Those who beheld her leave the strand,
    For years in anguish heard ...

George Pope Morris