The Poet

The Poet is the loneliest man that lives;

Ah me! God makes him so —

The sea hath its ebb and flow,

He sings his songs — but yet he only gives

In the waves of the words of his art

Only the ~ foam ~ of his heart.

Its sea rolls on forever, evermore,

Beautiful, vast, and deep;

Only his ~ shallowest ~ thoughts touch the shore

Of Speech; his ~ deepest ~ sleep.

The foam that crests the wave is pure and white;

The ~ foam ~ is not the ~ wave ~;

The wave is not the sea — ~ it rolls ~ forever on;

The winding shores will crave

A kiss from ev'ry wavelet on the deep;

~ Some come ~; some always ~ sleep ~.