Grey Drizzling Mists The Moorlands Drape, Rain Whitens The Dead Sea, From Headland Dim To Sullen Cape Grey Sails Creep Wearily. I Know Not How That Merchantman Has Found The Heart; But 'T Is Her Plan Seaward Her Endless Course To Shape. Unreal As Insects That Appall A Drunkard'S Peevish Brain, O'Er The Grey Deep The Dories Crawl, Four-Legged, With Rowers Twain: Midgets And Minims Of The Earth, Across Old Ocean'S Vasty Girth Toiling--Heroic, Comical! I Wonder How That Merchant'S Crew Have Ever Found The Will! I Wonder What The Fishers Do To Keep Them Toiling Still! I Wonder How The Heart Of Man Has Patience To Live Out Its Span, Or Wait Until Its Dreams Come True.