Canto XII

Lo! as a dove when up she springs

      To bear thro' Heaven a tale of woe,

      Some dolorous message knit below

The 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 play

      About the prow, and back return

      To where the body sits, and learn,

That I have been an hour away.