Aloft the moon in heaven's dome.
Sultry the night, tempests foretelling:
For the last time before I roam
I see the surf in splendor swelling.
A ship glides by, a shadowy form,
Faint roseate lights around me sparkle,
A gathering mist precedes the storm,
And far-off forest tree-tops darkle.
The silver-crested waves are lashing
The pebbly shore tumultuously: