A sky whose low dark boundary line
Meets a still darker sea;
Between it and this heart of mine
There rolls unceasingly
A troubled mystery.
Dreary, dreary,
Miséréré.
O heavy sky; no faintest ray
Of light, or high or low;
No earnest of a brighter day
Sustains the night. I know
Some days must finish so.
Dreary, dreary,
Miséréré.
At hand, a-near, the breakers toss,
And writhe and beat the air;
If thou art life, why, then, thy loss,
O beaten wave, is there
With wreck and dull despair.
Dreary, dreary,
Miséréré.
The sea her white locks tears apart
And looks where dangers wait;
While her great storm-begotten heart
Smites on its rock of fate,
And breaking moans, "Too late!"
Dreary, dreary,
Miséréré.
O life! thy troubled mystery
It singeth in a shell;
And all my heart could say of thee
The sea can say as well;
Sages no more can tell.
Dreary, dreary,
Miséréré.
