Last night I caught a sea-borne song,
As waves the southern strand confined;
My troubled soul would sing along,
A morning race of its design.
Impossible was what it sought;
And only by the distant eve,
Would my soul hasten to retrieve
The choral joust of foam and rock.
Anew beneath the evening lights
My soul, by deepest woe enslaved,
Sensed still the warmth of twilit night,
The mystery of song and wave.