O pale green sea, 
With long, pale, purple clouds above - 
What lies in me like weight of love ? 
What dies in me 
With utter grief, because there comes no sign 
Through the sun-raying West, or the dim sea-line ? 

O salted air, 
Blown round the rocky headland still, 
What calls me there from cove and hill? 
What calls me fair 
From thee, the first-born of the youthful night, 
Or in the waves is coming through the dusk twilight ? 

O yellow Star, 
Quivering upon the rippling tide - 
Sendest so far to one that sigh'd? 
Bendest thou, Star, 
Above, where the shadows of the dead have rest 
And constant silence, with a message from the blest?