Yon silvery billows breaking on the beach Fall back in foam beneath the star-shine clear, The while my rhymes are murmuring in your ear A restless lore like that the billows teach; For on these sonnet-waves my soul would reach From its own depths, and rest within you, dear, As, through the billowy voices yearning here,
Great nature strives to find a human speech. A sonnet is a wave of melody: From heaving waters of the impa**ion'd soul A billow of tidal music one and whole Flows in the "octave;" then returning free, Its ebbing surges in the "sestet" roll Back to the deeps of Life's tumultuous sea.