The Sea Hath No King But God

Gather A Shell From The Strewn Beach And Listen At Its Lips: They Sigh The Same Desire And Mystery, The Echo Of The Whole Sea's Speech.

Tis Visible Silence, Still As The Hour-glass.

Your Eyes Smile Peace.

I Am Not As These Are, The Poet Saithin Youth's Pride, And The Painter, Among Menat Bay, Where Never Pencil Comes Nor Pem

Her Hair That Lay Along Her Back Was Yellow Like Ripe Corn.