The Would-Be Merman

MOBS are like the Gulf Stream, Like the vast Atlantic. In your fragile boats you ride, Conceited folk at ease. Far beneath are dancers, Mermen wild and frantic, Circling round the giant glowing Sea-anemones.

“Crude, ill-smelling voters,-- Herds,” to you in seeming. But to me their draggled clothes Are scales of gold and red. Ah, the pink sea-horses, Green sea-dragons gleaming, And knights that chase the dragons And spear them till they’re dead!

Wisdom waits the diver In the social ocean-- Rainbow shells of wonder, Piled into a throne. I would go exploring Through the wide commotion, Building under some deep cliff A pearl-throne all my own.

Yesterday I dived there, Grinned at all the roaring, Clinging to the corals for a flash, Defying death. Mermen came rejoicing, In procession pouring, Yet I lost my feeble grip And came above for breath.

I would be a merman. Not in desperation A momentary diver Blue for lack of air. But with gills deep-breathing Swim amid the nation-- Finny feet and hands forsooth, Sea-laurels in my hair.