html.skin-theme-clientpref-night @media(prefers-color-scheme:dark){html.skin-theme-clientpref-os }NCE more, my love, once more,
We wander by the waves,
And listen to old ocean's roar,
Re-echoed from his caves.
That music of the deep,
Chimes fitful as of yore,—
Now gentle as an infant's sleep,
Now thundering on the shore.
Dost thou not feel the sound,
Like some familiar strain,
Can make the manly heart rebound,
With childhood's joy again?
The voices of long years,
All gathered to their graves,—
The dreams of youth, its hopes and fears,
Speak in those breaking waves.
Yet now, to me, that voice
Of ocean seems to say,
That fain with us he would rejoice,
Upon this happy day.
Each tossing billow seems
To break with lighter spray,
And sparkling in the morning beams,
To wish thee joy to-day.
Fond fancies these may be,
Yet 'tis the echoing heart
That makes the same deep melody,
Sorrow or joy impart.
And e'en the mournful swell
Of yonder lonely sea,
At this glad hour can only tell
Of hope and bliss to me.
Oh, Dearest! may each year
That yet for thee shall rise,
But find thee with fresh blessings here,
And nearer to the skies;
And every passing wave,
Of life's eventful sea,
Touched with that light earth never gave,
Melt into peace for thee.
E.