Classic Poem

I heard the song of the mermaid pause,
And sigh on the golden strand,
Then I rolled from the edge of the rocky ledge —
A hard, white grain of sand.

I danced on the comb of the salty spray,
And gleamed in the sun like a star,
Then I dropped in the mystical caves of the deep,
When the tide crept out from the bar.

And I sighed for the happy day that was dead,
On the leaf of the seaweed's bloom,
And I hardened my heart and ground my spear
In the woe of my watery gloom.

But a mollusk unbarred her prison gate,
And opened her home to me,
And I lodged in the cell of the cloistered one,
The silent nun of the sea.

I wooed her, yea, with the cruel thrust
Of the sharp, keen-pointed spear,
Till I felt on its edge the quivering drop
Of the silent sufferer's tear.

Yea, what was the silent one to me,
The silent nun in the silent sea?
Thou wert of me and I was of thee,
Thou silent nun in the silent sea.

At last, two plunged through the sighing wave
To rob the sea of her own,
And they shattered the wall of the cloistered nun
In their greed for the tear-drop stone.

They severed the life that was hers and mine,
And drew out my knife from her side —
But one left his hope in the salty deep,
And ebbed out his breath with the tide.

But what was the diver's life to me,
The rarest pearl in the rayless sea —
Yea, what was the diver's life to me —
The robber and filcher of the sea!

I lay on the breast of a rare, white bride,
Just hid by the bridal veil,
And I felt the throb of the wild young heart,
And I saw that her cheek was pale;

I, only I — there were tears and joy,
And joy and tears for the twain,
But I hid my heart in the pulsing breast,
That should press me close again.

For what were the tears of the bride to me,
The joy of the years that were to be,
To me, the gem of the silent sea,
What were the tears of the bride to me!

I lie on the breast of the shrouded dead,
Under the mould and the cold,
And I hide in my heart the missing strands
Of a tale that was never told;

And the grave worm creeps and the ground squirrel holds
His revels within my home —
And the bride in her mouldering veil is mine,
And the glad years never come.

But what are the tears of men to me,
The gem of tears from the silent sea, —
The woes that have been and the woes that will be —
What are the tears of men to me!