Of note and name I'd keep,
For there would vapid faces
Still throng me in my sleep;
Then contact with the foolish,
The arrogant, the vain,
The meaningless--the mulish,
Would sicken heart and brain.

No--I'd seek some shore of ocean
Where nothing comes to mar
The ever-fresh commotion
Of sea and land at war;
Save the gentle evening only
As it steals along the deep,
So spirit-like and lonely,
To still the waves to sleep.

There long hours I'd spend in viewing
The elemental strife,
My soul the while subduing
With the littleness of life;
Of life, with all its paltry plans,
Its conflicts and its cares--
The feebleness of all that's man's--
The might that's God's and theirs!

And when eve came I'd listen
To the stilling of that war,
Till o'er my head should glisten
The first pure silver star;