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C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

Burnt Ships

By Helen Hunt Jackson (1830–1885)

O LOVE, sweet Love, who came with rosy sail

And foaming prow across the misty sea!

O Love, brave Love, whose faith was full and free

That lands of sun and gold, which could not fail,

Lay in the west; that bloom no wintry gale

Could blight, and eyes whose love thine own should be,

Called thee, with steadfast voice of prophecy

To shores unknown!
O Love, poor Love, avail

Thee nothing now thy faiths, thy braveries;

There is no sun, no bloom; a cold wind strips

The bitter foam from off the wave where dips

No more thy prow; the eyes are hostile eyes;

The gold is hidden; vain thy tears and cries:

O Love, poor Love, why didst thou burn thy ships?