Last night a hand on my window tapped,
A voice came out of the sea,
‘Awake, awake, thou dreamer, wake,
And open thy door to me!’
What music this that so long was still,
What hand that I thought was cold?
‘Come in, sweet ghost, from thy lonely bed,
For my longing arms to hold.’
I freed my door from the bolt and bar,
And the slow tears came to me,
For I heard no sound, save the tapping rain
And the moan of the rising sea.