Thou art sleeping evermore.
Ocean, earth, and air could utter words that made thy spirit flutter—
Words that stirred the hidden fountain swelling in the bosom’s core;
Stirred it till its wavelets, sighing, wakened to a wild replying,
And in numbers never dying sung the heart’s unwritten lore—
Sung in wild, bewitching numbers, thy sad heart’s unwritten lore,
Now unwritten nevermore.
There was something sad and lonely in thy mystic songs that only
Could have trembled from a spirit weary of the life it bore;
Something like the plaintive toning of a hidden streamlet moaning