The soul that starves behind the golden gate.
I know how chance has reared our earthly thrones
Upon a shifting wrack of whitened bones,
Of heroes fallen in the wars of old--
By wind upbuilded and by wind cast down.
SEA-VOICES: As foam on the edge of the waters of night,
They flicker and fall;
More brief than delight,
More frail than their tears,
They flicker and fall