Classic Poem

The clouds in woe hang far and dim:
I took again, and lo,
Only a faint and shadow line
Of shore—I watch it go.

The gulls have left the ship and wheel
Back to the cliff's grey wraith.
Will it be so of all our thoughts
When we set sail on Death?

And what will the last sight be of life
As lone we fare and fast?
Grief and the face we love in mist—
Then night and awe too vast?

Or the dear light of Hope—like that
Still sent from the lost shore,
Kindling and calling, ‘Onward, you
Shall reach the Evermore!’