Rain on the face of the sea, Rain on the sodden land, And the window-pane is blurred with rain As I watch it, pen in hand. Mist on the face of the sea, Mist on the sodden land, Filling the vales daylight fails, And blotting the desolate sand. Voices from out of the mist, Calling to one another: 'Hath love an end, thou more than friend, Thou dearer than ever brother?' Voices from out of the mist, Calling and passing away; But I cannot speak, for my voice is weak, And . . . this is the end of my lay. .