The wreckage of some name-forgotten barque,
   Half-buried by the dolorous shore;
   Whereto the living waters never more
   Their urgent billows pour;
But the salt spray can reach and cark --

So lies my spirit, lonely and forlorn,
   On Being's strange and perilous strand.
   And rusted sword and fleshless hand
   Point from the smothering sand;
And anchor chainless and out-worn.

But o'er what Deep, unconquered and uncharted,
   And steering by what vanished star;
   And where my dim-imagined consorts are,
   Or hidden harbour far,
From whence my sails, unblessed, departed,

Can memory, nor still intuition teach.
   And so I watch with alien eyes
   This World's remote and unremembered skies;
   While around me weary rise
The babblings of a foreign speech.