Bến cảng The harbor

The harbor

No more I seek, the prize is found,
I furl my sails, my voyage is o’er;
The treacherous waves no longer sound
But sing thy praise along the shore.

I steal from all I hoped of old,
To throw more beauty round thy way;
The dross I part, and melt the gold,
And stamp it with thy every-day.

I did not dream to welcome thee;
Like all I have thou camest unknown,
An island in a misty sea,
With stars, and flowers, and harvests strown.

A well is in the desert sand
With purest water cold and clear,
Where overjoyed at rest I stand,
And drink the sound I hoped to hear.