Classic Poem

Come down, ye graybeard mariners,
Unto the wasting shore!
The morning winds are up, — the gods
Bid me to dream no more.
Come, tell me whither I must sail,
What peril there may be,
Before I take my life in hand
And venture out to sea!

— We may not tell thee where to sail,
Nor what the dangers are;
Each sailor soundeth for himself,
Each hath a separate star:
Each sailor soundeth for himself,
And on the awful sea
What we have learned is ours alone;
We may not tell it thee. —

Come back, O ghostly mariners,
Ye who have gone before!
I dread the dark, impetuous tides;
I dread the farther shore.
Tell me the secret of the waves;
Say what my fate shall be, —
Quick! for the mighty winds are up,
And will not wait for me.

— Hail and farewell, O voyager!
Thyself must read the waves;
What we have learned of sun and storm
Lies with us in our graves:
What we have learned of sun and storm
Is ours alone to know.
The winds are blowing out to sea,
Take up thy life and go! —