Sleep at Sea
Sound the deep waters:—Who shall sound that deep?—Too short the plummet,And the watchmen sleep.Some dream of effortUp a toilsome steep;Some dream of pasture groundsFor harmless sheep.
White shapes flit to and froFrom mast to mast; 10They feel the distant tempestThat nears them fast:Great rocks are straight ahead,Great shoals not past;They shout to one anotherUpon the blast.
Oh, soft the streams drop musicBetween the hills,And musical the birds’ nestsBeside those rills: 20The nests are types of homeLove-hidden from ills,The nests are types of spiritsLove-music fills.
So dream the sleepers,Each man in his place;The lightning shows the smileUpon each face:The ship is driving, driving,It drives apace: 30And sleepers smile, and spiritsBewail their case.
The lightning glares and reddensAcross the skies;It seems but sunsetTo those sleeping eyes.When did the sun go downOn such a wise?From such a sunsetWhen shall day arise? 40
‘Wake,’ call the spirits:But to heedless ears:They have forgotten sorrowsAnd hopes and fears;They have forgotten perilsAnd smiles and tears;Their dream has held them long,Long years and years.
‘Wake,’ call the spirits again:But it would take 50A louder summonsTo bid them awake.Some dream of pleasureFor another’s sake;Some dream, forgetfulOf a lifelong ache.
One by one slowly,Ah, how sad and slow!Wailing and prayingThe spirits rise and go: 60Clear stainless spiritsWhite as white as snow;Pale spirits, wailingFor an overthrow.
One by one flitting,Like a mournful birdWhose song is tired at lastFor no mate is heard.The loving voice is silent,The useless word; 70One by one flittingSick with hope deferred.
Driving and driving,The ship drives amain:While swift from mast to mastShapes flit again,Flit silent as the silenceWhere men lie slain;Their shadow cast upon the sailsIs like a stain. 80
No voice to call the sleepers,No hand to raise:They sleep to death in dreaming,Of length of days.Vanity of vanities,The Preacher says:Vanity is the endOf all their ways.