His View

Do you think she dreams of me for a minute,
Would care, were I out of the world, or in it?
Not she, — no, no.

I might do my best, or my worst in evil;
Be enshrined as a saint, or damned as a devil.
And she not know.

Yet of all the many that love and tend her
She will find no heart so true to befriend her.
Though she does not know.

But I think some day when the ninth wave takes her.
Grips her and lifts her, batters and breaks her.
Then she may know.