by: Harriet Prescott Spofford
- N the summer
- While yet the dew was hoar,
- I went plucking purple pansies,
- Till my Love should come to shore.
- The fishing-lights their dances
- Were keeping out at sea,
- And come, I sang, my true love,
- Come hasten home to me!
- But the sea, it fell a-moaning,
- And the white gulls rocked thereon;
- And the young moon dropped from heaven,
- And the lights hid one by one.
- All silently their glances
- Slipped down the cruel sea,
- And wait! cried the night and wind and storm,--
- Wait, till I come to thee!
MORE POEMS BY HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD
"Ballad" is reprinted
from The Little Book of American Poets: 1787-1900. Ed.
Jessie B. Rittenhouse. Cambridge: Riverside Press, 1915.