He sailed from Egypt under pleasant skies
Proud of his ship, and gazing toward the South
Where Pharos faded at the harbor-mouth,
Nor did he need Arcturus on the rise.
No more he'll see the Alexandrine mole;
But in the barren sand of some far shore,
Where one lone tree is wind-tossed ever more,
The storm has carved a chamber for his soul.

Laid in the deepest hollow of the dune
The traveler has found his rest at last,
Forever wrapped in starless, dreamless night.
So still he lies beneath the Grecian moon …
Above his body, whence the fire has passed.
O sea, be silent, and, O Earth, be light.