Sonnet XII
I STAND beside the waves,—the mournful waves,—
Where thou didst stand in silence and in fear,
For thou wert train’d by custom’s haughty slaves,
And love, from such as I, disdain’d to hear;
Yet, with the murmur of the echoing sea,
And the monotonous billows, rolling on,
Were mingled sounds of weeping,—for in thee
All nature was not harden’d into stone:
And from the shore there came a distant chime
From the old village-clock;—ah! since that day,
Like a dull passing-bell each stroke of time
Falls on my heart; and in the ocean spray
A voice of lamentation seems to dwell,
As in that bitter hour of agonised farewell!
