Sound the deep waters:-- Who shall sound that deep?--Too short the plummet, And the watchmen sleep.Some dream of effort Up a toilsome steep;Some dream of pasture grounds For harmless sheep.
White shapes flit to and fro From mast to mast;They feel the distant tempest That nears them fast:Great rocks are straight ahead, Great shoals not past;They shout to one another Upon the blast.
Oh, soft the streams drop music Between the hills,And musical the birds' nests Beside those rills:The nests are types of home Love-hidden from ills,The nests are types of spirits Love-music fills.
So dream the sleepers, Each man in his place;The lightning shows the smile Upon each face:The ship is driving, driving, It drives apace:And sleepers smile, and spirits Bewail their case.
The lightning glares and reddens Across the skies;It seems but sunset To those sleeping eyes.When did the sun go down On such a wise?From such a sunset When shall day arise?
'Wake,' call the spirits: But to heedless ears:They have forgotten sorrows And hopes and fears;They have forgotten perils And smiles and tears;Their dream has held them long, Long years and years.
'Wake,' call the spirits again: But it would takeA louder summons To bid them awake.Some dream of pleasure For another's sake;Some dream, forgetful Of a lifelong ache.
One by one slowly, Ah, how sad and slow!Wailing and praying The spirits rise and go:Clear stainless spirits White as white as snow;Pale spirits, wailing For an overthrow.
One by one flitting, Like a mournful birdWhose song is tired at last For no mate is heard.The loving voice is silent, The useless word;One by one flitting Sick with hope deferred.
Driving and driving, The ship drives amain:While swift from mast to mast Shapes flit again,Flit silent as the silence Where men lie slain;Their shadow cast upon the sails Is like a stain.
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 end Of all their ways.