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Her sails drawn and bound, lest the wind blow them free.
In the calm twilight waters she sleeps in the bay
With a mournful wind marking the passage of day,
And past the broad dunes, and the seabirds in flight,
Where she shimmers in equal parts shadow and light,
The waves rise and break, full of fury, and then
Sink back into gray foam and darkness again.
My love's been at anchor a very long time,
Afraid of the spray and the salt and the brine:
Her lines lie uncast, and her colors grown pale,
In wind that unfurls neither standard nor sail.
In quiet, and beauty, she rests in her moors,
And dreams wondrous dreams of the opposite shore,
And someday I'll sail with her, boundless and free,
And take up her anchor, not far from the sea.
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