Strange Sea！ why is it that you never rest？ And tell me why you never go to sleep？ Thou art like one so sad and sin-oppressed （And the waves are the tears you weep） And thou didst never sin what ails1 the sinless deep？
To-night I hear you crying on the beach, Like a weary child on its mother's breast A cry with an infinite and lonesome reach Of unutterably deep unrest； And thou didst never sin why art thou so distressed3？
But, ah, sad Sea！ the mother's breast is warm, Where crieth the lone2 and the wearied child； And soft the arms that shield her own from harm； And her look is unutterably mild But to-night, O Sea！ thy cry is wild, so wild！
What ails thee, Sea？ The midnight stars are bright How safe they lean on heaven's sinless breast！ O Sea！ is the beach too hard, tho' e'er so white, To give thy utter weariness a rest？ （And to-night the winds are a-coming from the West）。