“How come you so unsignalled,
    When I have watched so well? 
    Where rides the Adrianna
    With my name on boat and bell?”

    “O Yanna, golden Yanna,
    The Adrianna lies
    With the sea dredging through her ports,
    The white sand through her eyes.

    “And strange unearthly creatures
    Make marvel of her hull,
    Where far below the gulfs of storm
    There is eternal lull.

    “O Yanna, Adrianna,
    This midnight I am here,
    Because one night of all my life
    At yule tide of the year,

    “With the stars white in heaven,
    And peace upon the sea,
    With all my world in your white arms
    You gave yourself to me.

    “For that one night, my Yanna,
    Within the dying year,
    Was it not well to love, and now
    Can it be well to fear?”

    “O Garvin, there is heartache
    In tales that are half told;
    But ah, thy cheek is pale to-night,
    And thy poor hands are cold!

    “Tell me the course, the voyage,
    The ports, and the new stars;
    Did the long rollers make green surf
    On the white reefs and bars?”

    “O Yanna, Adrianna,
    Though easily I found
    The set of those uncharted tides
    In seas no line could sound,

“And made without a pilot
The port without a light,
No log keeps tally of the knots
That I have sailed to-night.

“It fell about mid-April;
The Trades were holding free;
We drove her till the scuppers hissed
And buried in the lee.

* * * * *

“O Yanna, Adrianna,
Loose hands and let me go! 
The night grows red along the East,
And in the shifting snow

“I hear my shipmates calling,
Sent out to search for me
In the pale lands beneath the moon
Along the troubling sea.”

    “O Garvin, bonny Garvin,
    What is the booming sound
    Of canvas, and the piping shrill,
    As when a ship comes round?”

    “It is the shadow boatswain
    Piping his hands to bend
    The looming sails on giant yards
    Aboard the Nomansfriend.

    “She sails for Sunken Harbor
    And ports of yester year;
    The tern are shrilling in the lift,
    The low wind-gates are clear.

    “O Yanna, Adrianna,
    The little while is done. 
    Thou wilt behold the brightening sea
    Freshen before the sun,

    “And many a morning redden
    The dark hill slopes of pine;
    But I must sail hull-down to-night
    Below the gray sea-line.

“I shall not hear the snowbirds
Their morning litany,
For when the dawn comes over dale
I must put out to sea.”