“My soul to-day
Is far away
Sailing the Vesuvian Bay.”

“I sit, this evening, far away,
From all I used to know,
And nought reminds my soul to-day
Of happy long ago.”

“They sailed away for a year and a day
To the land where the bong-tree grows.”

“Out of the city, far away
With spring to-day!
Where copses tufted with primrose
Give me repose,
Wood-sorrel and wild violet
Soothe my soul's fret.”

“Who prop, thou ask'st in these bad days, my mind?
He much, the old man, who, clearest-souled of men,
Saw The Wide Prospect, and the Asian Fen,
And Tmolus hill, and Smyrna bay, though blind.”

“We sailed away on a winter's day
With fate as malleable as clay
But ships are fallible, I say
And the nautical, as all things, fades.”

“For me, my craft is sailing on,
Through mists to-day, clear seas anon.
Whate’er the final harbor be
’T is good to sail upon the sea!”

“I wish I was away in Ingo
Far across the briny sea
Sailing over deepest waters
Where neither care nor worry trouble me.”

“I carry thoughts of you like my own personal constellation. How far away you are, my dearest friend, but no farther than those fixed stars in my soul.”

“As she lay, on that day,
In the bay of Biscay, O!”