I shall be telling this with a sigh
But this sorrow is more quietly chewed
Absolutely mine own.
I, Pacific driftwood bole
Wandered lonely as a cloud
Down to a sunless sea.
In the long dew dropping hours of the night
Frozen with snow
Fallen cold and dead.
But by happy, silent moony beams
In a night or in a day
The moon is within me and so is the sun.