I

The long blue skies are smiling, sweet
The baby-billows with glad feet
Play gently, softly, on the sand,
Soft breezes from far southern land
Bring sighing love-thoughts in their breast,
And on their wings sweet songs of rest,
The sweeping sea-gulls hither fly
And pause and dart with shrilly cry,
For all the world is gay, my sweet,
And this a wondrous day, my sweet,
A wondrous blithesome day.
But what care I how fair the day
If thou, dear one, art far away?
For though the sunbeams brightly dance
I cannot see your merry glance,
Nor hold thy hand so shy and pure,
Nor kiss thy tender lips demure.

II

The long grey skies are sobbing, sweet,
The waves no more with guileless feet
Play gently, softly, on the shore
But rush and snarl mid endless roar;
The breezes soft are of the past
And from the North the icy blast
Numbs all our senses with the cold,
And with his voices harsh and bold
Wild deeds of ravage fiercely sings,
And carries grief beneath his wings
For all the world is sad, my sweet,
And not a thing is glad, my sweet,
And not a thing is glad
But though the day were ever night
Without a star or sunbeam bright
Its blackness could not match my heart,
For far away from me thou art
Beyond the wailing restless waves,
Beyond the tomb of nameless graves,
And I cannot thy soft eyes see,
That dance and glance so prettily,
Nor hold thy hand so shy and pure,
Nor kiss thy tender lips demure.