It is this cringing to a social law
      That I despise, these changing, senseless forms
      Of fashion!  And until a thousand storms
    Of God’s impatience shall reveal the flaw
      In man’s pet system, he will weave the spell
      About his heart and dream that all is well.

    Ah!  Life is hard, Dear Heart, for I am left
      To battle with my old-time fears alone
      I must live calmly on, and make no moan
    Though of my hoped-for happiness bereft. 
      Thou wilt not come, and still the red cliff lies
      Hiding my ocean from these longing eyes.

Sea-Song.

    It sings to me, it sings to me,
    The shore-blown voice of the blithesome sea! 
      Of its world of gladness all untold,
      Of its heart of green, and its mines of gold,
    And desires that leap and flee.

    It moans to me, it moans to me! 
    The storm-stirred voice of the restive sea! 
      Of the vain dismay and the yearning pain
      For hopes that will never be born again
    From the womb of the wavering sea.

    It calls to me, it calls to me,
    The luring voice of the rebel sea! 
      And I long with a love that is born of tears
      For the wild fresh life, and the glorying fears,
    For the quest and the mystery.

    It wails to me, it wails to me,
    Of the deep dark graves in the yawning sea;
      And I hear the voice of a boy that is gone. 
      But the lad sleeps sound till the judgment-dawn
    In the heart of the wind-swept sea.

Incompleteness.

    Since first I met thee, Dear, and long before
      I knew myself beloved, save by the sense
      All women have, a shadowy confidence
    Half-fear, that feels its bliss nor asks for more,
      I have learned new desires, known Love’s distress
      Sounded the deepest depths of loneliness.

    I was a child at heart, and lived alone,
      Dreaming my dreams, as children may, at whiles,
      Between their hours of play, and Earth’s broad smiles
    Allured my heart, and ocean’s marvellous tone
      Woke no strange echoes, and the woods’ complain
      Made chants sonorous, stirred no thoughts of pain.

    And if, sometimes, dear Nature spoke to me
      In tones mysterious, I had learned so much
      Dwelling beside her daily, that her touch
    Made me discerning.  Though I might not see
      Her purpose nor her meaning, I had part
      In the proud throbbing of that mighty heart.

    But now the earth has put a tiring-cloth
      About her face; even in the mountains’ cheer
      There is a lack, and in the sea a fear,
    The glad, rash sea, whose every mood, if wroth
      Or soothing mild, is dear to me as are
      Joy’s new-born kisses on the lips of Care.