To The Dead

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Title:     To The Dead
Author: Fanny Kemble [More Titles by Kemble]

On the lone waters' shore
Wander I yet;
Brooding those moments o'er
I should forget.
'Till the broad foaming surge
Warns me to fly,
While despair's whispers urge
To stay and die.
When the night's solemn watch
Falls on the seas,
'Tis thy voice that I catch
In the low breeze;
When the moon sheds her light
On things below,
Beams not her ray so bright,
Like thy young brow?
Spirit immortal! say,
When wilt thou come,
To marshal me the way
To my long home?

[The end]
Fanny Kemble's poem: To The Dead

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