And thenceforward, all summer, in the sound of the sea, And at night, under the full of the moon, in calmer weather, Over the hoarse surging of the sea, Or flitting from briar to briar by day, I saw, I heard at intervals, the remaining one, the he-bird, The solitary guest from Alabama. 5. _Blow! blow! blow! Blow up, sea-winds, along Paumanok's shore! I wait and I wait, till you blow my mate to me_. 6. Yes, when the stars glistened. All night long, on the prong of a moss-scalloped stake, Down, almost amid the slapping waves, Sat the lone singer, wonderful, causing tears. He called on his mate; He poured forth the meanings which I, of all men, know. Yes, my brother, I know; The rest might not--but I have treasured every note; For once, and more than once, dimly, down to the beach gliding, Silent, avoiding the moonbeams, blending myself with the shadows, Recalling now the obscure shapes, the echoes, the sounds and sights after their sorts, The white arms out in the breakers tirelessly tossing, I, with bare feet, a child, the wind wafting my hair, Listened long and long. Listened, to keep, to sing--now translating the notes, Following you, my brother. 7. _Soothe! soothe! soothe! Close on its wave soothes the wave behind, And again another behind, embracing and lapping, every one close,-- But my love soothes not me, not me. Low hangs the moon--it rose late; O it is lagging--O I think it is heavy with love, with love. O madly the sea pushes, pushes upon the land, With love--with love. O night! do I not see my love fluttering out there among the breakers? What is that little black thing I see there in the white? Loud! loud! loud! Loud. I call to you, my love! High and clear I shoot my voice over the waves; Surely you must know who is here, is here; You must know who I am, my love. Low-hanging moon! What is that dusky spot in your brown yellow? O it is the shape, the shape of my mate! O moon, do not keep her from me any longer! Land! land! O land! Whichever way I turn, O I think you could give me my mate back again, if you only would; For I am almost sure I see her dimly whichever way I look. O rising stars! Perhaps the one I want so much will rise, will rise with some of you. O throat! O trembling throat! Sound clearer through the atmosphere! Pierce the woods, the earth; Somewhere, listening to catch you, must be the one I want. Shake out, carols! Solitary here--the night's carols! Carols of lonesome love! Death's carols! Carols under that lagging, yellow, waning moon! O, under that moon, where she droops almost down into the sea! O reckless, despairing carols! But soft! sink low; Soft! let me just murmur; And do you wait a moment, you husky-noised sea; For somewhere I believe I heard my mate responding to me, So faint--I must be still, be still to listen; But not altogether still, for then she might not come immediately to me.