wanderer - Popular Poems and stories from category

There came to Grasmere's pleasant valeA stranger maid in tatters clad,
Whose eyes were wild, whose cheek was pale,
While oft she cried, "Poor Kate is mad
"Four words were all she'd ever say,

How few, of all the hearts that loved,
Are grieving for thee now;
And why should mine to-night be
With such a sense of woe

All day they loitered by the resting ships,
Telling their beauties over, taking stock;
At night the verdict left my messmate's lips, "The Wanderer is the finest ship in dock
" I had not seen her, but a friend, since drowned,