Why art thou sad? thou dost not tell;
Thou hast strange reason for the dim self-pity
That holds thee as with an inflexible spell,
And moulds to its gloom thy low-voiced ditty.

Is it that thou dost hear the moan
That fills with its sorrow eternity's spaces?
Is it that thou hast hearkened the tone
Of secret despair from life's inmost places?

Nay, wake from thy slumber, come forth into light,
Where the joyous waves of the wide sea glisten,
And the sounds and the gloom of the sad mother-night
Disturb not the songs whereunto we listen.