Sidney H. Morse (1833–1903)

I CHALLENGE not the oracle

That drove you from my board:

I bow before the dark decree

That scatters as I hoard.

You vanished like the sailing ship

That rides far out at sea.

I murmur as your farewell dies

And your form floats from me;

Ah! ties are sundered in this hour:

No tide of fortune rare

Shall bring the heart I owned before,

And my love’s loss repair.

When voyagers make a foreign port,

And leave their precious prize,

Returning home they bear for freight

A bartered merchandise.

Alas! When you come back to me,

And come not as of yore,

But with your alien wealth and peace,

Can we be lovers more?

I gave you up to go your ways,

O you whom I adored!

Love hath no ties, but Destiny

Shall cut them with a sword.