She will not come, I know her well,
        Of lover's vows she hath no care,
   And little good a man can tell
        Of one so cruel and so fair.
   True love is but a woman's toy,
        They never know the lover's pain,
   And I who loved as loves a boy
        Must love in vain, must love in vain.

   O noble pilot tell me true
        Is that the sheen of golden hair?
   Or is it but the tangled dew
        That binds the passion-flowers there?
   Good sailor come and tell me now
         Is that my Lady's lily hand?
   Or is it but the gleaming prow,
        Or is it but the silver sand?

   No! no! 'tis not the tangled dew,
       'Tis not the silver-fretted sand,
   It is my own dear Lady true
       With golden hair and lily hand! 
   O noble pilot steer for Troy,
       Good sailor ply the labouring oar,
   This is the Queen of life and joy
     Whom we must bear from Grecian shore!

   The waning sky grows faint and blue,
      It wants an hour still of day,
   Aboard! aboard! my gallant crew,
      O Lady mine away! away!
   O noble pilot steer for Troy,
       Good sailor ply the labouring oar,
   O loved as only loves a boy!
      O loved for ever evermore!