He clung to me, his young face dark with woe,
And as the mournful music of the tide
Monotonously sang, he stood and cried,
A silhouette against the afterglow.
I said, "The boat has spread her pinions wide;
The stars and wind come forth together. Go
Back to our ivy-haunted portico,
And place my seat as always at your side."

And so I stepped aboard and left him there.
Farewell; the rhythmic somnolence of oars;
Star-misty vastness; swiftly moving air;
Then distant lights on undiscovered shores.
This I remember, standing by the sea,
But where was that dark land, and who were we?