Behold him, single in the sea

Yon solitary White Rock lad!

Rowing and singing by himself

Glumly; why is he sad?

Alone he rows, and rows further

Into the twilight zone farther

O listen! for the sea profound

Is overflowing with the sound.

 

No seagull did ever glumly croon

More welcome notes to weary crews

Who dreamt of sailing to the moon

But now stuck in deep seas:

A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard

In spring-time from the Robin-bird,

Breaking the silence of the isles

In the soothing sea stretching miles.

 

Will no one tell me what he sings?

Perhaps the doleful numbers flow

For old, ill-fated, far-off things,

And battles long ago:

Or is it some more modest lay,

Ordinary matter of today?

Some untold mourning, loss, or pain,

That has been, and may be again?

 

Whate'er the theme, the young man sang

As if his song had no ending;

I saw him singing in the sea,

And o'er the oar leaning;

I listened, motionless and still;

And, as I walked hearing gulls’ shrill,

The music in my heart I bore,

Long after it was heard no more.