His house as fair as the Malmsey wine
Seems sad as cypress-tree.
Three bowls he brims with honeycomb
To feast the bumble bees,
Saying, 'O bees, be this your home,
For grief is on the seas!'
He sate him lone in a coral grot,
At the flowing of the tide;
When ebbed the billow, there was not,
Save coral, aught beside.