Full of blown sand and foam; what help is here?
Let us go hence together without fear;
And though she saw all heaven in flower above,
One moon-flower making all the foam-flowers fair;
Flowers without scent, and fruits that would not grow,
Love is a barren sea, bitter and deep;
Will turn a little toward us, sighing; but we,
Yea, though we sang as angels in her ear,
Nor see love's ways, how sore they are and steep.
All is reaped now; no grass is left to mow;
She would not see.
She would not hear.
We are hence, we are gone, as though we had not been there.
Deep down the stifling lips and drowning hair,
Saying 'If thou wilt, thrust in thy sickle and reap.'
Let us go hence, my songs; she will not hear.
And the sea moving saw before it move
And over all old things and all things dear.
Let us rise up and part; she will not know.
Let us go hence, go hence; she will not see.
We gave love many dreams and days to keep,
Though all the stars made gold of all the air,
She loves not you nor me as all we love her.
Let us give up, go down; she will not care.
Let us go seaward as the great winds go,
Let us go home and hence; she will not weep.
Keep silence now, for singing-time is over,
Though all those waves went over us, and drove
There is no help, for all these things are so,
Nay, and though all men seeing had pity on me,
She too, remembering days and words that were,
And we that sowed, though all we fell on sleep,
Come hence, let be, lie still; it is enough.
Let us go hence and rest; she will not love.
She would not care.
She would not know.
And how these things are, though ye strove to show,
And all the world is bitter as a tear.
She would not love.
She shall not hear us if we sing hereof,
Sing all once more together; surely she,
She would not weep.