A LONE upon the monotonous ocean's verge
I take my stand, and view with heavy eye
The grey wave rise. I hear its sullen surge,
Its bubbling rush and sudden downward sigh. . . .

My friends are dead … there fades from me the light
Of her warm face I loved; upon me stare
In the dull noon or deadest hour of night
The smiling lips and chill eyes of Despair.

A light wind blows. . . . I hear the low wave steal
In and collapse like a despondent breath.
My life has ebbed: I neither see nor feel:
I am suspended between life and death.

Again the wave caves in. O, I am worn
Smoother than any pebble on the beach!
I would dissolve to that whence I was born,
Or alway bide beyond the long wave's reach.

O Will, thou only strengthener of man's heart
When all is gone—love and the love of friends,
When even Earth's comfort has become a part
Of that futility nor breaks nor mends:

Strengthen me now against these utmost wrongs;
Stay my wrecked spirit within thy control,
That men may find some fury in my songs
Which, like strong wine, shall fortify the soul.