Vi. Ocean

More than bare mountains ’neath a naked sky, Or star-enchanted hollows of the night When clouds are riven, or the most sacred light Of summer dawns, art thou a mystery And awe and terror and delight, O sea! Our Earth is simple-hearted, sad to-day Beneath the hush of snow, next morning gay Because west-winds have promised to the lea Violets and cuckoo-buds; and sweetly these Live innocent lives, each flower in its green field, Joying as children in sun, air, and sleep. But thou art terrible, with the unrevealed Burden of dim lamentful prophecies, And thy lone life is passionate and deep.