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.