The old song sounds hollower in mine ear
⁠Than thin keen sounds of dead men’s speech—
A noise one hears and would not hear;
⁠Too strong to die, too weak to reach
⁠From wave to beach.

We stand on either side the sea,
⁠Stretch hands, blow kisses, laugh and lean
I toward you, you toward me;
⁠But what hears either save the keen
⁠Grey sea between?

A year divides us, love from love,
⁠Though you love now, though I loved then.
The gulf is strait, but deep enough;
⁠Who shall recross, who among men
⁠Shall cross again?

Love was a jest last year, you said,
⁠And what lives surely, surely dies.
Even so; but now that love is dead,
⁠Shall love rekindle from wet eyes,
⁠From subtle sighs?

For many loves are good to see;
⁠Mutable loves, and loves perverse;
But there is nothing, nor shall be,
⁠So sweet, so wicked, but my verse
⁠Can dream of worse.