X.
For in that sleepless, tumbling tide—
When most thy fever'd spirits reel,
Sick with desires unsatisfied,
—Dwell life and balm to heal.
Raise thy free Sail, and seek o'er ocean's breast
—It boots not what—those rose-clouds in the West,
And deem that thus thy spirit freed shall be,
Ploughing the stars through seas of blue Eternity.