Seeks for a haven where to rest in vain.
Headlong she falls, famished and spent at last,
And as the widening circles mark the flood,
All Earth is but a tomb whence life has passed.
A common sepulchre for bad and good,
Upon this wave no ark of safety rides,
Bitter with tears and red with human blood.
No second patriarch his vessel guides,
A hive of life; a swelling fountain head,
To burst upon Ararat’s rugged sides.