Classic Poem

Well hast thou chosen who hast made the sea
Thy resting place! O, all things bright and high
Claim kinship with it! By an eager moon
'Tis drawn for ever, and in turn the sea
Draws all great souls; it is the soul of earth.
Bereft thereof all stony coasts would stretch
As bleak and barren as the wilted moon,
Which has no life but that which dwells in deep
Desire of soul, which vainly strives to steal,
O earth, thy soul away!


Sleep, gentle flesh!
The cool sea water takes thee: in its blue
Thine eyes henceforth shall glisten; there thy lips
Shall tinge its groves of coral; all the white
And delicate frame dissolving shall become
A portion of its being. So the thought—
The sacred thought of thee—shall still keep fresh
That calm, vast heart.


The sea-maids draw thee down,
To deep sea temples, there with mystic rites
Perform thine obsequies. To its true home
The flesh returns; thy spirit to its place
Is render'd too: throughout all days to come
That soul to mine inseparably join'd,
With light and beauty, like a sacrament,
Shall all my nature penetrate and change.