sergey_dobrenkov

Save me, my Saviour, by Thy Grace alone,
Not by the deeds my sinful hands have done.
Thou willest me to save: Thou knowest well
The way to rescue me from death and hell.

Save me as Thou wilt, as Thou canst, as Thou knowest;
By Thy known paths, Thy saving mercy showest.
Upon Thee, O my Lord, I set my trust,
And to Thy holy will my spirit I adjust.

Do with me what Thou wilt; Thy will be done;
I seek no other refuge, save the Holy One.
If Thou wouldst see me in the Light—blest be Thy Name!
If Thou wouldst have me in the darkness—blest the same!

If Thou unfoldest mercy’s door to me,
’Tis good and blessing; if Thou shuttest it,
Blessed art Thou, O Lord, whose just decree
Hath closed that door, as Thou dost see it fit.

If Thou destroy me not with all my sin,
Glory to Thy mercy’s boundless store!
If Thou condemn me for my sin within,
Glory to Thy righteous judgment evermore!

But as Thou wilt, dispose my path below,
That I at last Thy full salvation know.

To the soul that is proud, dark demons appear,
Whispering lies—that it’s holy and pure,
Or they plunge it in deep despair,
Saying salvation will never be there.

Who prays with a heart still sullied by pride
Sees demons arise where the saints should reside,
Taking bright forms, as if clothed in light,
To drag down the soul into endless night.

Without humble awe, none may approach God’s throne,
Without tears of repentance, no heart is made clean.
Without holy fear, no love can be known—
Without love, a slave or a hireling remains.
Without purity, never the Eternal Light shown.

No contrite heart ever sees Truth’s radiant glow,
And none shall be saved but by Grace freely given,
Dwelling in souls by His mercy made shriven.

None shall enter the Kingdom above
Who did not first enter through faith and love.
Once soul from body is torn apart,
Too late to seek God—too late to start.

Too late to weep, too late to pray,
Only to wait for the Judgment Day—
For every thought, for each hidden deed,
When all that was secret shall rise, revealed.

Keep your mind in hell, yet do not despair,
Count yourself worthy of torment untold,
Worse than all creatures, demons, and men—
And God’s mercy will hold you then.

Longing for faith, my soul beneath the veil in grief did pine,
Till Thou didst teach that Grace alone bestows this gift divine.
Nor can repentance bear its fruit, nor contrite tears impart,
Except Thou cast perfect brokenness into the sinner's heart.

In showing me the true beginning of the way to Thee,
Thou humbledst Thyself unto hell's lowest deep;
The fearful gulf yawned wide beneath my wandering feet,
Yet Thou Thyself—the only Way—dost safely keep.

Thy Grace alone sustaineth whom the deeps would claim;
Thou stayest him that else were swallowed in despair.
Thou askest nought but tears in true repentance' name,
And mind made new by holy change and faithful prayer.

From Thee all things receive their life, their breath, their being;
Thou bringest forth from hell, corruption, passion's night;
Revealing purity no mortal thought can compass seeing,
And givest Living Water, lest the seeing soul should die.

May each inhale be Thy cold fire—
Ineffable, unseen, without beginning,
Unchanging, deathless, never to expire,
Intangible, yet all my being filling.

For thousands of years since their fall from Grace,
The desperate demons learned to twist the straight,
To steal the unripe in the darks embrace—
What lacks Gods root, what bears no Graces weight.

They work through blood, through marrow of the spine,
To breathe a paralyzing, nameless dread,
To plant their whispers deep into the mind,
Till men believe the thoughts are theirs instead.

Those not led by the Grace of God Most High
Are blind in spirit, helpless to defy.
They do not see their souls slow, sick decline,
And so they fall—they cannot help but die.

They cannot help but sink into the deep,
Trusting their strength—so frail, so incomplete.
The undertow will drag them in its sweep,
Down to the depths where Light and Mercy cease.

To fear a thing but God is to believe
That evil wins—the madness of proud hearts,
Locked in the prison of flesh, deceived;
And to rise—not for the Holy Endowed,
Not for the Holy Wills own arts,
But for unending torment, never freed.

Fear is the faith that lets evil prevail,
Forgetting all things by Gods will are made well.
But trust in His hand—only this breaks the spell.

* * *

O Light of Light—
The path is narrow.
O dark of dark—
The gate is wide...

How near doth Time now stand upon the verge!
Upon our days is fallen Judgment's shade.
One woe grows still, then doth another surge,
And close behind, a third comes undelayed.

Then bitter cold shall strike, and famine loom,
Our hopes shall pass beyond the shrouded bier;
The city that we cherished, once so dear,
By Heaven's will, and war, shall meet its doom.

Believe not, people, that peace shall ever reign,
For Time already gazes into naught;
No end at all thereto shall e'er be brought—
The war returned, forever to remain.

She stood alone before the burning deep,
Where sun on sun, myriad, wheeled in flame,
And every star its dreadful watch did keep,
Too bright, too vast, too terrible to name.

Ten thousand thousand worlds of quenchless light
Did cling unto her, thick as breath on glass,
Glorious and grievous to her mortal sight,
A splendour that would lesser eyes surpass.

And yet — even as she trembled 'neath that fire,
Even as the numberless did blaze and burn —
Deep in herself she felt a thing far higher
Than all those wheeling worlds could ever earn.

For every sun that burns, and burns alone,
Knows not its own combustion, nor its name;
But she, the least, the frailest flesh and bone,
Beheld them all, and passed beyond their flame.

The Universe is great, and knoweth not;
The soul is small, and knows both depth and height;
Being but a breath, a vapour, and a thought,
She stood — and was herself the greater light.

But hark! a Voice — not from the height above,
Nor from the burning firmament of night,
Bade her not rise, as she had dreamed thereof,
But softly said, Go down, beyond all light.

Go down, descend into the last of dark,
Below the deepest deep thy fear hath known,
Where neither sun, nor moon, nor starry spark
Shall lend thee light to walk by, or to own.

And she began — for love, and not for dread —
To lay aside the greatness she had worn,
The glittering thought, the pride but lately fed,
The glory sought when first her soul was born.

She put away her restless, wandering thought,
The fame that perisheth as smoke in wind,
The wilful longing that her own will sought,
And every dream that bound her or confined.

She stripped away the ancient coats of skin —
The raiment donned when Eden's gate was barred —
And stood, as at the very first, within
The dark, unclothed, ungarmented, and bared.

Then down she went, as one who drowns and dies,
Into a strait so narrow and so dread
No breath was there, no room to breathe, no skies —
Only the dark, close-pressing overhead.

And there she lost the name that once was hers —
The name first given her, at hour of birth —
And, nameless, sank where nothing living stirs,
Past every root and reckoning of earth.

The singing spheres that once had filled the air
With glory, and with thunder of their light,
Fell still; and in that silence, everywhere
Was but the black, unbroken, breathless night.

And there her heart, once fain for feast and mirth,
Sang thus, unheard, below the reach of light:

        The heart that all its life for sorrow sought,
        Beyond death's verge, beyond despair's dark night,
        To black and fathomless deep waters brought,
        Now from the abyss looks forth with other sight.

        It hateth mirth, it hateth feast and wine,
        And in its weeping tastes a hidden worth;
        From speech grown sparing, into silence doth decline —
        No more it waits: established faith henceforth.

And nothing answered. Nothing stirred, nor spake.
The Universe, so vast, so bright before,
Was hushed into a sea no wind could wake,
One breathless ocean, still from shore to shore.

Down at the last, where nothing more could fall —
No deep past that, no dark beyond that deep —
She came unto the round and final wall
Of nothingness, where even silence sleeps.

There came no storm, to rend the rock apart,
No fire, to scorch the deep on either hand,
No earthquake shook the chambers of her heart —
Only a Breath she could not understand.

But out of nothing, soft as falling dew,
There breathed a Wind no earthly wind can be:
The Starry Wind — the Wind that all stars knew —
Passed through the strait, and touched, and set her free.

It bore her not aloft, as winds oft bear
The soul that longs to rise, and greatly boast;
It pierced her through — a cold and burning air —
And every passion, in that piercing, lost.

A cold, fine Flame, not scorching, but most pure,
Swept o'er the upper chambers of her heart,
And all the passions that she could not cure
Were burned away like chaff, and fell apart.

For God came not in whirlwind, nor in flame,
Nor in the trumpet-blast of any power;
He came in stillness, without sound or name,
A silence deeper than the deepest hour.

        O Thou that needest neither throne nor blast,
        Nor solar trumpet to proclaim Thy Name —
        How light Thy footfall on the deep, at last!
        How still the coming of Thy hidden flame!

Now was no more a distance, near or far,
Between her spirit and the Breath Divine;
He dwelt within her closer than a star
Doth dwell within its own unfading shine.

This was that Grace no mortal tongue can name,
That blindeth not, but maketh blind eyes see;
Not light reflected, but the Light and Flame
Whence every light that is, was first set free.

Yea, to the very pores of flesh it came,
The Wind that first had blown the stars alight,
Till skin and soul alike were but one flame,
One breathing dwelling-place of Uncreated Light.

So doth a drop of dew, at break of day,
Not hold the sun, and yet the sun contain —
Reflecting back, in its own transient way,
The very Prototype it cannot hope to explain.

So she, made small, and emptied of her own,
Became a glass to hold the Light unmade —
Herself unseen, herself no longer known,
Yet all transfigured, and no more afraid.

And for the name that in the dark was lost,
A Name was given, which no other knew —
Unspoken, and all unseen, yet engrossed
Her inmost being: secret, and made new.

And where the stars once burned, remote, immense,
Now burned a nearer and a gentler Flame:
Not the veiled Glory, throned beyond all sense,
But Breath, and Wind, and Fire without a name.

© Sergey Dobrenkov

Foreword

The preludes are set in a particular order, that from them a poem of its own kind might arise, instinct with its own unfolding tale. This cycle is not for the many. One must be not a poet merely, but a musician besides — or, at the least, a connoisseur gifted with a fine and discerning feeling for the classical art. Yet even this does not suffice. To feel the whole emotional fullness of each of the four-and-twenty tonalities is given to but few among professional musicians, and not even to every composer. Absolute pitch is not, here, the chief necessity — though it is not unwelcome — so much as one particular species thereof: the pitch of timbre, whereby every note is apprehended not by its height alone, but by its very colour. Yet neither is this indispensable. What matters most of all is this: that upon the sounding of even the tonic triad in a given key, one should hear within it emotional shades wholly its own — shades scarcely to be found among the like feelings called forth by that selfsame chord in any other key.

I. Prelude to the Key of C Major

«Let there be light!» — the world at once was pierced
By simplicity, unbound and unrestrained;
As if a sudden blindness, fierce,
Sleepless and shadowless, o'er us all had reigned.

While still our eyes, unused to it, must strain
To see — is that the sky, or the snowy plain?
Till voices call to us, from the past, again:
«Frost and sun» — yet no warmth do they contain.

II. Prelude to the Key of A Minor

Homeless the world. Before first light
Scarce half an hour remains to bear.
The darkness leaves no shade, no white;
My life is over everywhere.

The ground is gentle where I lie,
My needless eyes forever sealed;
A footnote only will reply
What silence has not yet revealed.

III. Prelude to the Key of E-flat Major

Only the first ray is required
By earth grown weary with the night,
From ocean depths to mountain heights
That have forgotten light.

She turns her darkened, cooling face
Towards the steadfast, waiting sun;
The east is flooded with its blaze,
And all the skies are one.

IV. Prelude to the Key of G Major

Morning exults, wakes the pussy-willow trees,
A little pathway ripples by the stream;
So light I feel, I'd rise to sky with ease,
And fly, a bird, set free, and soar supreme.

And carefree would I sing, a song so vernal,
Where soft the sun's warm rays serenely gleam;
No sorrow now, and joy is bright, eternal,
And toward the distance flies my heart, in dream.

V. Prelude to the Key of A Major

Oh, if I could but once relive
Those blessed days of infancy,
When, free from every care and grief,
The world revolved around just me.

Safe in my little cot I'd lie,
Content to coo and drool with pleasure,
And every moment hear the cry:
«Just look at him — a living treasure!»

VI. Prelude to the Key of F-sharp Major

Flowing, streaming, downward falling,
Through dams and dikes in mighty sweep,
The waters live, no sorrow calling;
What mourns is only sullied deep.

A silver drop toward seas unending,
With countless waves I'll onward glide,
That in a world renewed, transcending,
As rain, one moment, there abide.

VII. Prelude to the Key of B Major

In river shade where dim lights gleam,
And heavy hangs the stifling air,
They call to me beneath the stream,
Their wistful eyes already there.

My body lightens, as though aware:
I need but reach my hand — and then
A mermaid's warm and slender palm
Draws me into the silent fen.

VIII. Prelude to the Key of E-flat Minor

I had a dream of paradise and hell,
They grappled in a bitter fight.
Hell won. I’m there, as you can tell,
In spider-envy and in spite.

There into blackness sinks the track,
There bottomless dark, devoid of will,
There void, there nothing — God is not,
And sweet paralysis, painless, still.

IX. Prelude to the Key of C Minor

O rage, o fury, o audacity,
Musculatureum of granite!
You’ll build a monument with tenacity
Where the earth, roller-crushed, lies dead under it.

What does it matter, victims’ share?  
Their list by fate is offered.  
Descendants will pay them their fair:  
At your feet flowers are proffered.

X. Prelude to the Key of E Major

I've passed through fire and through flood,
Through brass-band cries of "Hail, hurray!"
Enough! And now — freedom, for good!
And in a flash, the tinsel flies away.

Onward I walk the well-worn way,
With empty sack, so glad and free,
Toward my peak that won't obey…

…And there, a star converses with me.

XI. Prelude to the Key of D-flat Major

Burning itself to ash and night,
A candle in the window shone,
To succour every wandering wight
Whose hope and strength were spent and gone.

Burn on, burn on, my candle slight,
So tremulous and faint and shy,
That in your weak and wavering light
The beaten footpath may not die.

XII. Prelude to the Key of F Minor

All shall pass... Or something may remain,
To eye, to ear, in remembrance still;
And all I've seen and heard shall wake again,
Escaping time's unyielding will.

Then, like unbidden tides, the unforgotten names
Will surge once more, returning from the deep,
My memory's captives — unconstrained.
All will forgive... And silence will come.

XIII. Prelude to the Key of G-sharp Minor

I sink beneath the ice still deeper —
At the bottom of the soul the water stands,
The darkness narrows all around, and more hushed.
And in the ice-hole a star fades.

There useless breath
Will exhale one last bubble
And the departing consciousness
Will bark to eternity: abyr-r-r-r...

XIV. Prelude to the Key of E Minor

Behind my back a phantom looms,
That whispers: none can live without death;
And night peers through the curtain's glooms,
And nods to it beneath its breath.

Impatient grows the long awaiting
Of final throes, in torment wrung;
Eternal silence comes, abating,
Beneath a heartbeat, faintly strung.

XV. Prelude to the Key of D Minor

So here it is — the end. And I am spent,
And life's own secret, silent repeater
Was so foredoomed, by death's own meter,
That all at once my world was rent.

And night fell down, to grief unknowing,
Down on the eyes already closed.
Yet in the soul a tear, still glowing,
Still boils and burns, and overflows.

XVI. Prelude to the Key of B-flat Minor

I was alone. All round, no light,
The darkness threatened with defeat,
And nearby, steps of measured might
Advanced with an ever-growing beat.

I beat my forehead 'gainst the boards below,
While overhead the earth fell, clod by clod...
...And with a canceled reprise — even so,
My life was played into the box, 'neath sod.

XVII. Prelude to the Key of G Minor

You are the SALT, my self one day,
Yet higher still, too far to gain;
To you, the road's an endless way,
Kept safe, still, from the present's reign.

And how I long to look and see
Into my own, far resounding zone:
Oh, turn around, and stay with me —
Without you, I'm so alone.

XVIII. Prelude to the Key of A-flat Major

The angels sang in the constellations' choir,
And led the shepherds down to Bethlehem;
Happy together, gathered in the byre,
Stood the Holy Family, and the donkeys with them.

— He came to bring Salvation to mankind,
The ONE true path amid a thousand roads —
And there they saw a miracle, first of its kind:
A smile the little God on them bestowed.

XIX. Prelude to the Key of C-sharp Minor

The hour draws near. And Sin's own death — how dread!
Blood-tinted sweat is mingling with the dew.
Over Gethsemane's garden, moonbeams spread.
— Father, let what You have spoken now come true!

Mankind's shared Sin has grown more heavy still:
The disciples, weak of heart, let their eyelids fall,
And gazing at the world with final grief, until
It sighs in bitterness, obedient to all.

XX. Prelude to the Key of B Minor

Whatever be my path — it is my own,
Whether I bear the Cross for a crucifixion,
And close beside me — He, alive, not gone,
Whispers to me: «All men are brothers» — without distinction.

But brother-men, not I, must bear the blame —
They crucified the Christ, yet once again...
The Mother stood in shadow of the flame,
And all looked on — and stood, like silent men.

XXI. Prelude to the Key of F-sharp Minor

The Mother stood, above her towered the Cross,
Her Son, crucified, pierced through with nails,
Not daring lift her eyes to Him, in loss,
She prayed for Salvation's grace to prevail —

«My Son is dearer than all Eternity,
And Thy own Father dwells in Heaven on high;
Have mercy, God! God! God! I cry to Thee!
Save Him, and raise Him up, no more to die!»

XXII. Prelude to the Key of B-flat Major

With friends, over a little bottle of wine,
We talked of many things — and God also...
The evening light so loved us, through the window's shine,
And stroked our lashes, eyebrows, cheeks aglow.

Suddenly an Angel of silence came from the heavens,
And crossed us, shielding from the world's vain ill.
He whispered:
               — Truly risen
Is Christ!
               And God is everywhere...
               And gentle light, so still...

XXIII. Prelude to the Key of D Major

Earth and heaven waited for the wonder to be;
And the fortieth day, foretold, came true;
And Mother, with the apostles, then knew:
He is the Son, the Father, Holy Spirit — Three.

And with the Ascension, every mote
Within us wakes to song and mirth;
And Death itself, forever, lies smote —
God is near: wholly, always, everywhere, and forth.

XXIV. Prelude to the Key of F Major

How infinite is this open sky,
Flung wide before me, vast and free,
The choir of stars, to Phoebus tied,
Upon his golden chariot, plain to see.

There —
           they sing a hymn to the vanished life
Of me, the one who is no more,
And hold a festive funeral feast
For my soul —
            Where reigns the Light for evermore.

A Prelude Reprised: to the Key of F Major

In the valley of a distant land of after-echoes,
From the heights, where overtones are sounding down to me,
I remember, and I know that I lived in the best
Of all the possible worlds that in the universe could be.

Singing and changing with every passing moment,
The soul exults, in joy for all that's still unborn...
And endless life in unceasing movement...
Why — this is Music! God! The break of morn!

__________________________________________

© Author of the original poem of 24 preludes in Russian: Alexander Alexandrovich Alexandrov (pseudonym — Timofeichev).

© Poetic translation into English, with elements of Early Modern English style by Sergey Dobrenkov.

No star. No light. No candle burns.
The heart, once warm, is cold and still.
To rock, to lifeless stone it turns —
A tomb, shut fast, in night as chill.

And in that tomb, so cold, so bare,
Lies Love made flesh, and crucified.
No breath. No voice. No answer there.
The world stood dark the hour He died.

Then Joseph came, a secret friend,
And begged the Body, cold as clay;
He wrapped his Lord, and knelt to tend
The wounds, in grief and in dismay.

There Christ lay on the stone, alone
His journey through the world was done;
No warmth was left in flesh or bone;
The earth cried out beneath the sun.

No grief had ever pierced so sore,
No heart had ever bowed its head —
The dark that day was dark far more
Than any dark before the dead.

Yet lower still His spirit came,
Down to the deep, where dead men lay,
And broke the bonds of ancient shame
That held our father, bound for aye.

Far in the east, a light was born —
Not warm, not gold, but cold and thin;
No man yet knew, that fearful morn,
If Life could ever wake within.

I
The casement opens on the seaward hill,
Where cypress-spires stand slender, dark, and tall;
The winding paths grow dim; the air is still;
Cicadas sing, and dusk begins to fall.

II
The cool night brings the scent of weed and salt;
The flow'rs of night give out their sweet perfume;
A waxing moon doth climb the heavens' vault;
The slow sea, breathing, fills the quiet room.

III
O sea — now terror, now a mighty calm —
Thou leav'st none seeing thee with heart of stone;
The shore holds, turn by turn, thy rage — thy psalm
Of ripples trembling in a humble tone.

IV
The wind, thy neighbour — thin, and scarce a form —
Is wayward as thy waves; yet, as God wills,
Can crush whate'er doth stand before his storm,
Or bear sweet music gently o'er the hills.

V
All this the Composer's mind doth hold in store —
Deep, searching, piercing, ever-moving, wide —
More mighty than the storms that round it roar,
More lowly than the ripple on the tide.

VI
Within, a strain doth rise — not forged, but heard —
A little interval, a narrow door,
Older than speech, an unremembered word,
That opens on a Universe — and more.

VII
He seeks the Source — the chants of elder days,
The voices hid in every simple sound,
The modes that bear a thousand years of praise —
And, under all, the sea intones the ground.

VIII
Next comes the Law: he proves it, bar by bar;
Cicadas keep the measure, ebb and flow;
He strikes out what is trite, or leads afar;
Though cool the night, his mind with warmth doth glow.

IX
The Ways divide; the modes, though bound, run free,
Each with its pace, its life, its change, its death;
And each keeps all its dead, as keeps the sea,
Then wakes the sleeping with a single breath.

X
Lo, unforeseen, a theme long dead doth rise,
Now as remembrance raised, and born again,
Now changed, in other mode, in strange disguise;
And all the currents form one single main.

XI
He paints no glint, no shade upon the foam,
But dreadful truths Leviathan hath hid
Where in the weight of waters is his home,
A thousand fathoms down, the deeps amid.

XII
The moon hath set; all sounds are stilled; the night
Lays bare her stars; and mind, past every bound,
Beholds the Boundless: sound is thought, thought light;
And thirst is slaked, and rest at last is found.

XIII
But dawn draws near, and Form renews its claim:
What knows no limit, limit must confine —
Five lines, a bar, a compass, and a name,
And one brief hour to bear the whole design.

XIV
He leaves the Boundless, willing, unconstrained;
Ten thousand notes unchosen pass away;
The vast is numbered, and the free contained,
That one small Fruit may see the light of day.

XV
Whoe'er thou be, who in the lighted hall
Dost hear the Fruit, serene, complete, and fair,
And think the whole is here, and that is all,
As though it came unlaboured, light as air —

XVI
Thou knowest not the Source whence it hath sprung,
The Law that bore it, nor the Ways denied;
A Veil hangs o'er the Tree; no note, no tongue
Can tell what lived unheard, and unespied.

XVII
But he who wrought it, lord of it entire,
May give it to the world, or put it by,
Or with his own hand give it to the fire,
And watch the flame with calm and steady eye.

XVIII
He recks not which; for, ere his earthly hour,
His spirit hath the last of knowing learned,
And tasted worlds to come, and felt their power,
And all his longing to the stillness turned.

XIX
The cypress-spires stand dark against the stars;
The wind hath passed; the sea lies hushed and sealed;
And he, beholding, free of bounds and bars,
Knows Silence for the wisdom last revealed.

© Sergey Dobrenkov, 2026

Upon a crag of sable, wave-worn stone
That rises sheer above the roaring deep,
A man stands bare to heav'n, and all alone,
Whilst thunder wakes what ages left to sleep.

The billows, rank on rank, in fury hurled,
Assault the rock, and, shattered, weep their spray
Up to his height, as though the hungry world
Would reach for him, and bear him far away.

The cold rain streams across his upturned face,
And fresh and briny mingle on his skin;
No eye can tell, nor any mind can trace
Which drops fell from the clouds, which from within.

Upright, he lifts his open hands in prayer;
Above him breaks the lightning, thin and keen,
And shows, in sudden white and silent glare,
His face—so sorrowful, and yet serene.

He shuts his eyes to hearken for a word,
And will not name the grief that gnaws his breast;
The thunder speaks, as if the heav'ns had heard,
Yet knows he not if 'tis reply or test.

The sea gives neither word nor sign; yet hark—
Deep calleth unto deep, and in his heart
A hidden sea replies amid the dark,
Where tears are rain, and prayers the lightning's dart.

Perchance no wall divides the heart from skies,
Nor parts the grief within him from the sea;
The world weeps through him, as it weeps through eyes
That open wide upon eternity.

Or else the sea, with monsters in the deep,
Needs no man's tears: its only tears are spray;
Not grief but hunger stirs it from its sleep;
It lies in wait to swallow any prey.

The storm passed on; the dawn came pale;
The winds withdrew from land.
The black crag shone with dying rain;
The sea grew strangely grand.

He stood alone, and on his face
The last drops lingered still—
Like tears that neither sea nor storm
Could name, nor ever will.