All this is emptiness! I wish the end.”
What he had said I know not, for the wind,
Which had blown fitful since the red sun sunk,
Came in fierce gusts against the window now—
Bringing large drops that pattered chill and loud.
Then our talk changed to what might be afar—
To the rude ocean, and the mariners
Driven by windy war on unknown coasts,
To sin and sorrow in this poor, poor world,
And all those dreary themes akin to tears.