No, there is none in all the earth save thee, And never was, not through the length of time. One is the sea whose everlasting chime Cradles the world, however variously Named on its sundered shores, and thou, my sea, Streamest through every spiritual clime; The kings of thought, the laurelled lords of rhyme, Are names of thine or silent shades to me. Thou to this heart canst never more be mute, Though of that dumb fraternity of Death, While there is sweetness in the viol and lute And power in speech of man, and while with breath Drawn from the world's worn air I fan the flame That shatters and consumes and re-creates this frame. |