The Star-Filled Seas Are Smooth To-Night From France To England Strown; Black Towers Above The Portland Light The Felon-Quarried Stone. On Yonder Island, Not To Rise, Never To Stir Forth Free, Far From His Folk A Dead Lad Lies That Once Was Friends With Me. Lie You Easy, Dream You Light, And Sleep You Fast For Aye; And Luckier May You Find The Night Than Ever You Found The Day.