That toss within their moonlit graves--
Is it a king, or but a girl?

And, all the while, she sings and sings,
And waves her wild white hands with glee,
Mysterious sister of the world,
That singing water called the sea.

(_O tell me was this sea-weed found
In the long shimmer of the Sound!_)


A SONG OF SINGERS

Singers all along the street,
Singing every kind of song--
One man's song is honey-sweet,
One man's song is hammer-strong;
Yet, however sweet the singing,
However strong the hammer-swinging,--
All the bees are round that honey
Which the vulgar world calls money.

Singers all along the street--
One sings Love and one sings Death,
Roses sings one and little feet,
And one sings wine with fevered breath;
Yet all the bees are round that honey
Which the vulgar world calls money.