She could be there, gossamer and grinning, but no less closer. She could be sighing, far past setting sun, in lands where it just rose.
If I but some ship, some way to set sail. Cherish the winds that bring me there. Hail the tides that draw me closer.
Should the night seek me in form of every gloom, I could bear but it all. If only one were with her. If but one, and then none, and love nevermore, it would be moments spent well.
For to dream of one woman upon each tide, I bless each wave. Pray to each to carry me near, if even one day closer to her.