The winds, the birds, the ocean-floods,
The City’s voice itself is soft like solitude’s.
I see the Deep’s untrampled floor 10
With green and purple sea-weeds strown;
I see the waves upon the shore,
Like light dissolved in star-showers, thrown:
I sit upon the sands alone;
The lightning of the noon-tide ocean 15
Is flashing round me, and a tone
Arises from its measured motion—