O LIFTED face of mute appeal!
Poor tongueless pantomime of prayer!
O sullen sea, whose deeps conceal
The children of despair!
O heart that will not look above!
Poor staggering feet that seek the wave!
I would come quick, if I were Love,
And I had power to save.

O sinking sunset loneliness
Aflame in hot, unmoving eyes!
Poor wan lips, creeping in distress
To cover up your cries!
O broken speech, and sobbing breath!
Poor restless and uncertain will!
I would come quick, if I were Death,
And I had power to kill!