Classic Poem

This is not only the last strip of the land,
Or the beginning of the bright mysterious sea.
It is the end of something. Give me your hand;
Here in the knife of this sharp wind, turn to me.

What is so poignant about this pale shore
Where the rocks break, and the long sea slips in?
Was it yesterday I stood here, heard the roar
Of water, watched sails fill, and a long journey begin?

Did I wave, yearning, after a flower-decked prow,
See the strong oars dip, backs bend, hear a parting shout?
Once I stood here saying farewell. Must I say it now,
Even if no voice answers, no ship sets out?

I fear this place of parting. Give me your hand.
Let us find refuge here, under this grassy hollow.
Hold me close out of the wind, close to the land.
Tell me there is no farewell to say, no sail to follow!