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Poem	O pale green sea, With long, pale, purple clouds above - What lies in me like weight of love ? What dies in me With utter grief, because there comes no sign Through the sun-raying West, or the dim sea-line ? O salted air, Blown round the rocky headland still, What calls me there from cove and hill? What calls me fair From thee, the first-born of the youthful night, Or in the waves is coming through the dusk twilight ? O yellow Star, Quivering upon the rippling tide - Sendest so far to one that sigh'd? Bendest thou, Star, Above, where the shadows of the dead have rest And constant silence, with a message from the blest?
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