I laid me down beside the sea, Endless in blue monotony; The clouds were anchored in the sky. Sometimes a sail went idling by. Upon the shingles on the beach Grey linen was spread out to bleach, And gently with a gentle swell The languid ripples rose and fell. A fisher-boy, in level line, Cast stone by stone into the brine: Methought I too might do as he, And cast my sorrows on the sea. The old, old sorrows in a heap Dropped heavily into the deep; But with its sorrow on that day My heart itself was cast away.