The Poet is the loneliest man that lives； Ah me！ God makes him so -The sea hath its ebb and flow, He sings his songs —— but yet he only gives In the waves of the words of his art Only the ~foam~ 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 crests the wave is pure and white； The ~foam~ is not the ~wave~； The wave is not the sea —— ~it rolls~ forever on； The winding shores will crave A kiss from ev'ry wavelet on the deep； ~Some come~； some always ~sleep~.