Who discerns? who hears?
Who but I—and perhaps You?
When some thin thought-wave
From the shadow shore
Brings the Voice once more
From beyond the grave;
When some pain is prest
Deep into the breast,
And the inward thoughts are swords
Killing one with sadness;
Most when love is strong,
And the anguish long
Rolls up in a haste of words
Ending all in madness—
Who is he that soothes or cheers?
Who believes? who hears?
Ay, when the Heart grieves,
Pants, prays—who believes?—
Ay, when the Heart cries,
When it breaks, when it dies,—
(Ah, why was the Heart born!—)
Who shall save? who shall mourn?
BARCAROLLE.
THE stars are dimly seen among the shadows of the bay,
And lights that win are seen in strife with lights that die away:
The wave is very still—the rudder loosens in our hand,
The zephyr will not fill our sail and waft us to the land;
O precious is the pause between the winds that come and go,
And sweet the silence of the shores between the ebb and flow.