I Wrote The Burning Words To You That Meant So Much To Me. I Sent Them Speeding Straight To You, To You Across The Sea; I Waited With Sure Reckoning For Your Reply To Me. I Waited, And The Counted Day Fruitlessly Came And Went; I Made Excuse For The Delay, Pitiable Confident. I Knew To-Morrow'S Light Must Bring The Words You Must Have Sent. And Still I Stand On That Dim Verge And Look Across The Sea; The Waves Have Changed Into A Dirge Their Volubility. And In My Disillusioned Heart Is A Little Grave For Me. But Still With Shaded Eyes I Gaze As Mournfully I Sing, And One By One The Trailing Days, As They No Message Bring, Fall With Their Slow Monotony As Beads Fall From A String.