A notch for memory...

What is going on with me ?
Sleep and calm from me both flee.
Quite a trifle it may be,
yet upsets me dreadfully !

Darling, sailing north to sea,
parting with me tenderly,
left a fir-tree marked for me
with a notch for memory.

"If it's overgrown", he said,
"Never will I come back here;
Hurricanes won't spare my head !
Never will I see you, dear!"

So I pine,
poor girl,
once gay;
Up the cliffs I climb each day.
Such a trifle,
I must say,
yet each day I waste away.

Every morning without cease
I re-cut that notch again.
Tell me,
oceans,
tell me,
seas,
Seaways shining on the main !
Is he live and hale, and where
does he roam ?
Dispel my care !

Waves roll homeward over seas,
homeward flies the nippy breeze,
Yet my darling can't be seen...

Must I cut fir-tree clean
through the stem, do tell me please ?

Dusk has fallen.
How my heart is aching.
E'en the clock,
it seems to me, has stopped.
What's the good of dreary,
hopeless waiting ?...