O sea-wall, mounded long and low,
Let iron bounds be thine;
Nor let the salt wave overflow
That breast I held divine.
Nor float its sea-weed to her hair,
Nor dim her eyes with sands;
No fluted cockle burrow where
Sleep folds her patient hands.
Though thy crest feel the wild sea's breath,
Though tide-weight tear thy root,
Oh, guard the treasure-house, where death
Has bound my Darling mute.
Though cold her pale lips to reward
With love's own mysteries,
Ah, rob no daisy from her swand,
Rough gale of eastern seas!
Ah, render sere no silken bent
That by her head-stone waves;
Let noon and golden summer blent
Pervade these ocean graves.
And, ah, dear heart, in thy still nest,
Resign this earth of woes,
Forget the ardors of the west,
Neglect the morning glows.
Sleep and forget all things but one,
Heard in each wave of sea,—
How lonely all the years will run
Until I rest by thee.
John Byrne Leicester Warren [1835-1895]