"Why is it?" once the Ocean asked, As on a summer's day, Basking beneath a cloudless sky, In musing rest he lay, "Why is it, that, unruffled still, The welkin's brow I see, While mine with racking wind and tide Deep-furrowed oft must be? "Her richest gems, by night displayed, Man's filching grasp defy; But safety for my treasures none, Though buried deep they lie. "The hands that from her diadem In reverence recoil, Are bold my depths to penetrate And of their wealth despoil. "A thousand ships with cruel keel My writhing waves divide, But mariner hath never steered Athwart her tranquil tide. "Why is it thus, that rest to her And toil to me is given; That she the blessing ever meets, And I, the curse of Heaven?" The Ether heard. Through all her depths A deeper azure spread, And to the murmuring Ocean thus, With radiant smile, she said: "Who cleaveth to the earth, as thou, Ne'er knows tranquillity; Naught pulses in my bosom wide But God, whose own am I." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE COCK AND THE FOX, OR THE TALE OF THE NUN'S PRIEST by GEOFFREY CHAUCER TO SCIENCE; SONNET by EDGAR ALLAN POE LINES by JESSIE GODDARD BROMAN WHITEHAVEN HARBOUR by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN PROLOGUE FOR MR. WOODS by ROBERT BURNS |