Can the dead feel sorrow or pain?)
With the sea-drenched locks and the pulseless breast,
And the close-shut lips which thine have pressed,
And the wild sad eyes that heed not thee,
While the raven croaks in the rowan-tree.
(Hark to the wind and the rain!)
The tower is dark, and the doors are wide,
(Flotsam and jetsam cast up by the sea,
The dead are at peace again.)
Into the harbor the fisher boats ride,