I walked with her I love by the sea,
The deep came up with its chanting waves,
Making a music so great and free
That the will and the faith, which were dead in me,
Awoke and rose from their graves.
Chanting, and with a regal sweep
Of their‘ broidered garments up and down
The strand, came the mighty waves of the deep,
Dragging the wave-worn drift from its sleep
Along the sea-sands bare and brown.
“O my soul, make the song of the sea!” I cried.
“How it comes, with its stately tread,
And its dreadful voice, and the splendid pride
Of its regal garments flowing wide
Over the land!” to my soul I said.
My soul was still; the deep went down.
“What hast thou, my soul,” I cried,
“In thy song?” “The sea-sands bare and brown,
With broken shells and sea-weed strown,
And stranded drift,” my soul replied.