Yea, rock him gently in thine arms, O Deep!
No nobler heart was ever hushed to rest
Upon the chill, soft pillow of thy breast--
No truer eyes didst thou e'er kiss to sleep.
While o'er his couch the wrathful billows leap,
And mighty winds roar from the darkened west,
Still may his head on thy cool weeds be pressed,
Far down where thou dost endless silence keep.
Oh, when, slow moving through thy spaces dim
Some scaly monster seeks its coral cave,
And pausing o'er the sleeper, stares with grim
Dull eyes a moment downwards through the wave,
Then let thy pale green shadows curtain him,
And swaying sea-flowers hide his lonely grave.