What is there with you and me, that I may not forget

but your white shapes come crowding noiselessly in my
nights,

making my sleep a flight from a thousand beckoning
hands?

Was it not enough that your cry dwelt in my waking ears

that now, seeking oblivion, I must yet be haunted

by each black maw of hunger that yawns despairingly

a moment ere its whitening frenzy bury it?

O waves of all the seas, would I could give you peace

and find my peace again: for all my peace is fled

and broken and blown along your white delirious crests!