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[First published 1852. Reprinted 1853, ’54, ’57.]
WEARY of myself, and sick of asking | |
| What I am, and what I ought to be, | |
| At the vessel’s prow I stand, which bears me | |
| Forwards, forwards, o’er the starlit sea. | |
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| And a look of passionate desire | 5 |
| O’er the sea and to the stars I send: | |
| ‘Ye who from my childhood up have calm’d me, | |
| Calm me, ah, compose me to the end. | |
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| ‘Ah, once more,’ I cried, ‘ye Stars, ye Waters, | |
| On my heart your mighty charm renew: | 10 |
| Still, still let me, as I gaze upon you, | |
| Feel my soul becoming vast like you.’ | |
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| From the intense, clear, star-sown vault of heaven, | |
| Over the lit sea’s unquiet way, | |
| In the rustling night-air came the answer— | 15 |
| ‘Wouldst thou be as these are? Live as they. | |
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| ‘Unaffrighted by the silence round them, | |
| Undistracted by the sights they see, | |
| These demand not that the things without them | |
| Yield them love, amusement, sympathy. | 20 |
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| ‘And with joy the stars perform their shining, | |
| And the sea its long moon-silver’d roll. | |
| For alone they live, nor pine with noting | |
| All the fever of some differing soul. | |
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| ‘Bounded by themselves, and unobservant | 25 |
| In what state God’s other works may be, | |
| In their own tasks all their powers pouring, | |
| These attain the mighty life you see.’ | |
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| O air-born Voice! long since, severely clear, | |
| A cry like thine in my own heart I hear. | 30 |
| ‘Resolve to be thyself: and know, that he | |
| Who finds himself, loses his misery.’ | |
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