The Surrender

Must I round my life to a song, As the waves wear smooth the shore-stone? Shall the mortal beat and throb Of this heart of mine Be only to crumble a dream, And fashion the pebbles of fancy, That the tides of time may cover, Or a child may find?

Little in truth it matters; But this at the most I know: Infinite is the ocean That thunders upon man's soul, And the sooner the soul falls broken, The smoother will be its song!