  By the sea, by the desert night-cover’d sea Standeth a youth, His breast full of sadness, his head full of doubtings, And with gloomy lips he asks of the billows: “O answer me life’s hidden riddle, “The riddle primeval and painful, “Over which many a head has been poring, “Heads in hieroglyphical nightcaps, “Heads in turbans and swarthy bonnets, “Heads in perukes, and a thousand other “Poor and perspiring heads of us mortals— “From whence doth he come? And where doth he go? “Who dwelleth amongst the golden stars yonder?” The billows are murm’ring their murmur eternal, The wind is blowing, the clouds are flying, The stars are twinkling, all listless and cold, And a fool is awaiting an answer. |
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