Return of the Lost

Under the green wave, in the moonlight pale,
     A white face stares up blindly, a cold hand
     Rocked by the long swell beckons to the land
For one who breathes her low, monotonous wail
Where winds the cold wave hissing through the shale!
     The dead crawls onward over rock and sand,
     To find his mourner on the desolate strand
That hurls him backward to some deep-sea vale.
The full moon wanes and waxes; afar isle,
     Stretching its granite arms across the tides,
     Clutches a ghastly something as it glides
Along the shallows with a frightful smile !
     Ha, Mourner! hide those eyes that tearless burn;
     More dreadful than thy loss this hideous return !