The Undersong

I hear the sea-song of the blood in my heart, I hear the sea-song of the blood in my ears: And I am far apart, And lost in the years. But when I lie and dream of that which was Before the first man’s shadow flitted on the grass, I am stricken dumb With sense of that to come. Is then this wildering sea-song but a part Of the old song of the mystery of the years⁠— Or only the echo of the tired heart And of tears?