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