| |
| WITHIN the world a second world | |
| That circles ceaselessly: | |
| Stars in the sky and sister stars— | |
| Turn in your eyes and see! | |
| |
| Tides of the sea that rise and fall, | 5 |
| Aheave from Pole to Pole— | |
| And kindred swayings, veiled but felt, | |
| That noise along the soul. | |
| |
| Yon moon, noon-rich, high-throned, remote, | |
| And pale with pride extreme, | 10 |
| Draws up the sea, but what white moon | |
| Exalts the tide of Dream? | |
| |
| The Fisher-Folk who cast their nets | |
| In Vision’s golden tide | |
| Oft bring to light misshapen shells, | 15 |
| And nothing worth beside. | |
| |
| And so their worn hands droop adown, | |
| Their singing throats are dumb; | |
| The Inner-Deep withholds its pearls | |
| Till turn of tide be come. | 20 |
| |
| But patience! wait—the good tide turns, | |
| The waters inward set; | |
| And lo, behold! aleap, alive | |
| With glowing fish the net! | |
| |
| O Toilers of the Hidden Seas! | 25 |
| Ye have strange gain and loss, | |
| Dragging the Deeps of Soul for pearls, | |
| And ofttimes netting dross. | |
| |
| Flushed to the lips with golden light, | |
| And dark with sable gloom; | 30 |
| Thrilled by a thousand melodies, | |
| And silent like a tomb. | |
| |
| Fierce are the winds across your realm, | |
| As though some Demon veiled | |
| Had loosed the gales of Spirit-land | 35 |
| To ravage ways unsailed. | |
| |
| But still sweet hours befall at times, | |
| Rich-lit and full of ease; | |
| The afterglow is like the light | |
| Of sunset on tired seas. | 40 |
| |
| And worse, perhaps, may be the lot | |
| Of those whose fate is sleep; | |
| The sodden souls without a tide, | |
| Dense as a rotten deep. | |
| |
| Pain paves the way for keener joy, | 45 |
| And wondrous thoughts uproll | |
| When the large moon of Peace looks down | |
| On high tide in the soul. | |
| |
