The wreckage of some name-forgotten barque, Half-buried by the dolorous shore; Whereto the living waters never more Their urgent billows pour; But the salt spray can reach and cark -- So lies my spirit, lonely and forlorn, On Being's strange and perilous strand. And rusted sword and fleshless hand Point from the smothering sand; And anchor chainless and out-worn. But o'er what Deep, unconquered and uncharted, And steering by what vanished star; And where my dim-imagined consorts are, Or hidden harbour far, From whence my sails, unblessed, departed, Can memory, nor still intuition teach. And so I watch with alien eyes This World's remote and unremembered skies; While around me weary rise The babblings of a foreign speech.