Pass shores of death with port-holes gleaming bright!
’Twas on that Charnel-isle, with watching eyes
He toiled for dead men who still heard the waves
Beat shoreward: saw the South Sea white moonrise
Bathe their-to-be forgotten flowerless graves!
Exiled pale hero-priest! Full oft their cries
Smote his sad listening ears; like unto caves
That voice the mournful tone of ocean’s roll,
Infinity entombed sang in his soul.
Lonely as God, he sat: enthroned o’er pain