As wild waves churning, as wild winds yearn-
ing,
They flicker and climb and fall.
A soft strange cry from the landward rings—
"What ails the sea to shine?"
A keen sweet note from the spray's rim springs—
"What fires are these of thine?"
"A soul am I that was born on earth
For ae day's waesome span:
Death bound me fast on the bourn of birth,