Canto XII
Lo! as a dove when up she springsTo bear thro’ Heaven a tale of woe,Some dolorous message knit belowThe wild pulsation of her wings;
Like her I go; I cannot stay;I leave this mortal ark behind,A weight of nerves without a mind,And leave the cliffs, and haste away
O’er ocean-mirrors rounded large,And reach the glow of southern skies,And see the sails at distance rise,And linger weeping on the marge,
And saying; ‘Comes he thus, my friend?Is this the end of all my care?’And circle moaning in the air:‘Is this the end? Is this the end?’
And forward dart again, and playAbout the prow, and back returnTo where the body sits, and learn,That I have been an hour away.