I Stood By The Unvintageable Sea Till The Wet Waves Drenched Face And Hair With Spray; The Long Red Fires Of The Dying Day Burned In The West; The Wind Piped Drearily; And To The Land The Clamorous Gulls Did Flee: 'Alas!' I Cried, 'My Life Is Full Of Pain, And Who Can Garner Fruit Or Golden Grain From These Waste Fields Which Travail Ceaselessly!' My Nets Gaped Wide With Many A Break And Flaw, Nathless I Threw Them As My Final Cast Into The Sea, And Waited For The End. When Lo! A Sudden Glory! And I Saw From The Black Waters Of My Tortured Past The Argent Splendour Of White Limbs Ascend!