To give forth no voice but the moan of the sea.
"Two others have gone towards the setting sun,
And made them a home in its light,
And fairy fingers have taken their share
To mend by the fireside bright;
Some other baskets their garments fill—
But mine! Oh, mine is emptier still.
"Another—the dearest—the fairest—the best—
Was ta'en by the angels away,
And clad in a garment that waxeth not old,