When we mourn thy cruel stealth,
Sorrowing for our quiet caves.
Doth it calm our wistful pining
That the chains we hate are shining?
Boast we beauty's gauds to be?
Can the state such bondage shares,
Thoughtless liking, loveless cares,
Sudden angers, wilful airs,
Sooth us like the mighty sea?

Though, in hours when suitors press
Near the shrine of star-bright eyes,
Mysteries, some would die to guess,
Our familiar touch descries;
When a startled throb or tremble,
Woman's craft would fain dissemble,
Through our light embraces swells;--
Fruitless secrets--vainly taught,--
Bliss unheeded--trust unsought--
Can they quench the constant thought
Of our dreamy ocean-cells?

Though the glowing bands we form,
Oft by redder lips be pressed,
And a slumber, soft and warm,
Fold us on a dove-like breast,--
Not to love, but love's bestowing
Gentle care and kiss are owing:--
Is the passion changed or cloyed,
Doth the giver's light grow less?