The Poet
The Poet is the loneliest man that lives； Ah me！ God makes him so -The sea hath its ebb1 and flow, He sings his songs —— but yet he only gives In the waves of the words of his art Only the ~foam2~ of his heart.
Its sea rolls on forever, evermore, Beautiful, vast, and deep； Only his ~shallowest~ thoughts touch the shore Of Speech； his ~deepest~ sleep.
The foam that crests3 the wave is pure and white； The ~foam~ is not the ~wave~； The wave is not the sea —— ~it rolls~ forever on； The winding4 shores will crave5 A kiss from ev'ry wavelet on the deep； ~Some come~； some always ~sleep~.
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