I walked with her I love by the sea,

The deep came up with its chanting waves,

Making a music so great and free

That the will and the faith, which were dead in me,

Awoke and rose from their graves.

Chanting, and with a regal sweep

Of their ’broidered garments up and down

The strand, came the mighty waves of the deep,

Dragging the wave-worn drift from its sleep

Along the sea-sands bare and brown.

“O my soul, make the song of the sea!” I cried.

“How it comes, with its stately tread,

And its dreadful voice, and the splendid pride

Of its regal garments flowing wide

Over the land!” to my soul I said.

My soul was still; the deep went down.

“What hast thou, my soul,” I cried,

“In thy song?” “The sea-sands bare and brown,

With broken shells and sea-weed strown,

And stranded drift,” my soul replied.