It moans to me, it moans to me!
The storm-stirred voice of the restive sea!
Of the vain dismay and the yearning pain
For hopes that will never be born again
From the womb of the wavering sea.
It calls to me, it calls to me,
The luring voice of the rebel sea!
And I long with a love that is born of tears
For the wild fresh life, and the glorying fears,
For the quest and the mystery.
It wails to me, it wails to me,
Of the deep dark graves in the yawning sea;
And I hear the voice of a boy that is gone.
But the lad sleeps sound till the judgment-dawn
In the heart of the wind-swept sea.
Incompleteness.
Since first I met thee, Dear, and long before
I knew myself beloved, save by the sense
All women have, a shadowy confidence
Half-fear, that _feels_ its bliss nor asks for more,
I have learned new desires, known Love's distress
Sounded the deepest depths of loneliness.
I was a child at heart, and lived alone,
Dreaming my dreams, as children may, at whiles,
Between their hours of play, and Earth's broad smiles
Allured my heart, and ocean's marvellous tone
Woke no strange echoes, and the woods' complain
Made chants sonorous, stirred no thoughts of pain.
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