I know it not, nor seek to know—
I only see it swell and grow,
And more than this would not presume.
Meseems, a circling void I fill,
And I unchanged where all is change;
It seems unreal—I own it strange—
Yet nurse the thoughts I cannot kill.
I hear the ocean's surging tide
Raise, quiring on, its carol-tune;
I watch the golden-sickled moon,