I laid me down beside the sea, 
Endless in blue monotony; 
The clouds were anchored in the sky. 
Sometimes a sail went idling by. 

Upon the shingles on the beach 
Grey linen was spread out to bleach, 
And gently with a gentle swell 
The languid ripples rose and fell. 

A fisher-boy, in level line, 
Cast stone by stone into the brine: 
Methought I too might do as he, 
And cast my sorrows on the sea. 

The old, old sorrows in a heap 
Dropped heavily into the deep; 
But with its sorrow on that day 
My heart itself was cast away.