  This is the burden of the Sea, Loss, failure, sorrows manifold; Yet something though the voice sound free Remains untold. Listen! that secret sigh again Kept very low, a whole heart’s waste; What means this inwardness of pain? This sob repressed? Some ancient sin, some supreme wrong, Some huge attempt God brought to nought, All over while the world was young, And ne’er forgot? Those lips, which open wide and cry, Weak as pale flowers or trembling birds, Are proud, and fixed immutably Against such words. Confession from that burdened soul No ghostly counsellor may win; Could such as we receive its whole Passion and sin? In this high presence priest or king, Prophet or singer of the earth, With yon cast sea-weed were a thing Of equal worth. |
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