After Carrickfergus
A wish is lost
in the ocean sleeping,
and ships that sail never bring love back;
the summer’s past, for all my weeping,
and roses fall in winter’s frost.
A wish is dead
as soon as spoken,
and I would follow if I could.
The word you gave me then is broken,
and I cannot see the way ahead.
For the sea is wide,
and the years yawn wider,
the salt stings cold as any tears,
and the stars look down, a mute reminder
of all that rolled out on the tide.
And it leaves no trace
on the sands of morning,
your parting promise to return,
but I’d give a world, the sun adorning,
to glimpse again your sea-soft face.
The Four Swans 