You at God's altar stand, His minister,
And Paris lies about you and the Seine:
Around this Breton isle the Ocean swells,
Deep water and one love between us twain.

Wild is the wind, but still thy name is spoken;
Rough is the sea: it sweeps not o'er thy face.
Still runs my love for shelter to its dwelling,
Hither, O heart, to thine abiding place.

Swift as the waves beneath an east wind breaking
Dark as beneath a winter sky the sea,
So to my heart crowd memories awaking,
So dark, O love, my spirit without thee.