Whose laurels wail thee with a shivering sound!

And I—I pine through all the joyous day,

Through the long night I pine—as fondly pines

The night’s own bird, dissolving her lorn life

To song in moonlight woods. Thou hear’st me not!

The heavens are pitiless of human tears:

The deep sea-darkness is about thy head;

The white sail never will bring back the loved!

By the blue waters—the restless ocean-waters,

Restless as they with their many-flashing surges,