Yet glory’s light hath touch’d my name,
The laurel-wreath is mine—
With a lone heart, a weary frame—
O restless deep! I come to make them thine!
Give to that crown, that burning crown,
Place in thy darkest hold!
Bury my anguish, my renown,
With hidden wrecks, lost gems, and wasted gold.
Thou sea-bird on the billow’s crest!
Thou hast thy love, thy home;