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• That voice I hear,—how heard I cannot tell,—
• Although my home is there, seems from my home:
• There . . . still it trails along and murmurs “come”;
• Like the slow death of sound within a bell,
• Or like the humming whine in some pink shell
• Wet with the beaded bubbles of the foam,
• Which bird-eyed damsels stoop for when they roam
• By the old sea. Wer't not exceeding well
• To shake my soul out of this tiresome idle life
• 10 For any voice calling me any whither?
• And the new life, than this I have, or had,
• Cannot be worse: the voice is much too sad.
• Added TextEven to attain calm grief, I'd hasten thither
  I may win blessèd grief by going thither
• Added TextSince here this sought for joy wearies like strife
  Perchance; sith here such loathesome joys are rife.

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G.