Under Song

I hear the sea-song of the blood in my heart,

I hear the sea-song of the blood in my ears:

And I am far apart,

And lost in the years.

But when I lie and dream of that which was

Before the first man's shadow flitted on the grass,

I am stricken dumb

With sense of that to come.

Is then this wildering sea-song but a part

Of the old song of the mystery of the years --

Or only the echo of the tired heart

And of tears?