V. Joy

Spring-tides of Pleasure in the blood, keen thrill Of eager nerves,--but ended as a dream; Look! the wind quickens, and the long waves gleam Shoreward, and all this deep noon hour will fill Each lone sea-cave with mirth immeasurable, Huge sport of Ocean’s brood; yet eve’s red sky Fades o’er spent waters, weltering sullenly, The dank piled weed, the sand-waste grey and still. Sad Pleasure in the moon’s control! But Joy Is stable; is discovered law; the birth Of dreadful light; life’s one imperative way; The rigour hid in song; flowers’ strict employ Which turn to meet their sun; the roll of Earth Swift and perpetual through the night and day.