Mother, whate’er of tuneful power I have
Was thine since first the flood of life began
To mix the lime that built me up a man,
And loved me out of darkness. For my wave,
Sprung from thy deeps, was rhythmic, stave on stave
Tuned to thy beating heart the current ran
Charged with such music as will last my span
And leave some simple verse upon my grave.
Wherefore, as waves that from the ocean’s bound
Drawn deeply back return with added voice,
Line after line let fall upon the beach,
I render back to broken shores of speech
What thought flows in upon the tide of sound,
And know that thou wilt listen and rejoice.
(Sonnets Round the Coast, p. 1)