As the husband is the wife is; thou art mated with a clown, As the grossness of his nature will have weight to drag thee down.
The long day wanes; the slow moon climbs the deep.
Break, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, oh sea! And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me.
Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls.
Dead sounds at night come from the inmost hills. Like footsteps upon wool.
Who trusted God was love indeed And love Creation's final law Though Nature, red in tooth and claw With ravine, shrieked against his creed.