THERE was a man whom Sorrow named his Friend, <br />And he, of his high comrade Sorrow dreaming, <br />Went walking with slow steps along the gleaming <br />And humming Sands, where windy surges wend: <br />And he called loudly to the stars to bend <br />From their pale thrones and comfort him, but they <br />Among themselves laugh on and sing alway: <br />And then the man whom Sorrow named his friend <br />Cried out, Dim sea, hear my most piteous story.! <br />The sea Swept on and cried her old cry still, <br />Rolling along in dreams from hill to hill. <br />He fled the persecution of her glory <br />And, in a far-off, gentle valley stopping, <br />Cried all his story to the dewdrops glistening. <br />But naught they heard, for they are always listening, <br />The dewdrops, for the sound of their own dropping. <br />And then the man whom Sorrow named his friend <br />Sought once again the shore, and found a shell, <br />And thought, I will my heavy story tell <br />Till my own words, re-echoing, shall send <br />Their sadness through a hollow, pearly heart; <br />And my own talc again for me shall sing, <br />And my own whispering words be comforting, <br />And lo! my ancient burden may depart. <br />Then he sang softly nigh the pearly rim; <br />But the sad dweller by the sea-ways lone <br />Changed all he sang to inarticulate moan <br />Among her wildering whirls, forgetting him.<br /><br />William Butler Yeats<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-sad-shepherd/