Classic Poem

We part as ships on a pathless main,
Gayly enough, for the sense of pain
Is asleep at first: but ghosts will arise
When we would repose, and the forms will come
And walk when we walk, and will not be dumb,
Nor yet forget with their wakeful eyes.

When we most need rest, and the perfect sleep,
Some hand will reach from the dark, and keep
The curtains drawn and the pillows toss'd
Like a tide of foam; and one will say
At night, — O, Heaven, that it were day!
And one by night through the misty tears
Will say, — O, Heaven, the days are years,
And I would to Heaven that the waves were cross'd.