Of late among the rocks I lay,
But just behind the fretful spray,
When suddenly a step drew near,
And a man's voice, distinct and clear,
Convey'd this solace--
"Come with me,
Thou little outcast of the sea!
Our destiny, poor shell, is one;
We both may shine, but shine alone:
Both are deprived of all we had
In earlier days to make us glad,
Or ask us why we should be sad:
Which (you may doubt it as you will)
To manly hearts is dearer still."
I felt, ere half these words were o'er,
A few salt drops on me once more.