’Tis closing doors they hear at last who hear no more, no more,
My Grief,
No more!
The tide was in the salt sea-weed, and like a knife it tore;
The wild sea-wind went moaning, sooing, moaning o’er and o’er;
The deep sea-heart was brooding deep upon its ancient lore,
I heard the sob, the sooing sob, the dying sob at its core,
My Grief,
Its core!
The white sea-waves were wan and grey, its ashy lips before,