I Sit Upon The Old Sea Wall, And Watch The Shimmering Sea, Where Soft And White The Moonbeams Fall, Till, In A Fantasy, Some Pure White Maiden'S Funeral Pall The Strange Light Seems To Me. The Waters Break Upon The Shore And Shiver At My Feet, While I Dream Old Dreams O'Er And O'Er, And Dim Old Scenes Repeat; Tho' All Have Dreamed The Same Before, They Still Seem New And Sweet. The Waves Still Sing The Same Old Song That Knew An Elder Time; The Breakers' Beat Is Not More Strong, Their Music More Sublime; And Poets Thro' The Ages Long Have Set These Notes To Rhyme. But This Shall Not Deter My Lyre, Nor Check My Simple Strain; If I Have Not The Old-Time Fire, I Know The Ancient Pain: The Hurt Of Unfulfilled Desire,-- The Ember Quenched By Rain. I Know The Softly Shining Sea That Rolls This Gentle Swell Has Snarled And Licked Its Tongues At Me And Bared Its Fangs As Well; That 'Neath Its Smile So Heavenly, There Lurks The Scowl Of Hell! But What Of That? I Strike My String (For Songs In Youth Are Sweet); I 'll Wait And Hear The Waters Bring Their Loud Resounding Beat; Then, In Her Own Bold Numbers Sing The Ocean'S Dear Deceit!