| |
| THERE 1 was a man whom Sorrow named his friend, | |
| And he, of his high comrade Sorrow dreaming, | |
| Went walking with slow steps along the gleaming | |
| And humming sands, where windy surges wend: | |
| And he called loudly to the stars to bend | 5 |
| From their pale thrones and comfort him, but they | |
| Among themselves laugh on and sing alway: | |
| And then the man whom Sorrow named his friend | |
| Cried out, Dim sea, hear my most piteous story! | |
| The sea swept on and cried her old cry still, | 10 |
| Rolling along in dreams from hill to hill; | |
| He fled the persecution of her glory | |
| And, in a far-off, gentle valley stopping, | |
| Cried all his story to the dewdrops glistening, | |
| But naught they heard, for they are always listening, | 15 |
| The dewdrops, for the sound of their own dropping. | |
| And then the man whom Sorrow named his friend | |
| Sought once again the shore, and found a shell | |
| And thought, I will my heavy story tell | |
| Till my own words, re-echoing, shall send | 20 |
| Their sadness through a hollow, pearly heart; | |
| And my own tale again for me shall sing, | |
| And my own whispering words, be comforting: | |
| And lo! my ancient burden may depart. | |
| Then he sang softly nigh the pearly rim; | 25 |
| But the sad dweller by the sea-ways lone | |
| Changed all he sang to inarticulate moan | |
| Among her wildering whorls, forgetting him. | |
