Mine eyes are dim and my wound is sore,
   White sail, will you come to me?
My Friend, shall I never see thee more?
   Be still, O moaning sea.

Have you forgotten the cup of bliss?
   White sail, will you come to me?
On the flying ship, and the first long kiss?
   Be still, O moaning sea.

Have you forgotten the forest trees?
   White sail, will you come to me?
The vows we spoke to the stars and seas?
   Be still, O moaning sea.

I sought you once in a strange disguise;
   White sail, will you come to me?
You knew not even my sad, sad eyes;
   Be still, O moaning sea.

“Call when you will, I’ll come,” you said;
   White sail, will you come to me?
Come swiftly, or you will find me dead;
   Be still, O moaning sea.

The sail is black, they have hauled it high;
   White sail, you came not to me;
I’ll turn my face to the wall and die;
   Be still, O moaning sea.

O Iseult, my life, my death, my friend!
   White sail, there’s no need for thee;
I waited for you until the end . . .
   Still is the moaning sea.