Page:Anthology of Magazine Verse (1921).djvu/50

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They waited, pearled in eagerness,—Small subject wonderers of a landWhose king was out-o'-doorsAnd would betimes go by.He came—the sun!The swift, old marvel of the sun!For thirty midday seconds came the sun!And you were still as every leaf he touched,Long after his gold passing.
   Yes? Your breathWent all away into the shining?God spoke too loud that time? Tell you—
   Sleep holds her . . .But sleep comes creeping, and takesNo sudden throne. If it be not sleep,But the other? . . .
I sit in the folds of a dreadAs in a husk that widens and swellsTill it strikes the sky.Who is it standing, a fiendLike a mountain darkening upwardDropping and dropping and droppingThe ocean into a glass?Why are the walls so near and so cold?Wavering and greenish white?Why are they rocking, and covered with shadowsThat mightily grasp and fade?
. . . . . ]l know. We are under the sea.Like a petal her face goes drifting;A white rose petal that swirls away.Far up is the water's clear surface;High up, where the sky used to be;And above it lies the good air.We must climb . . . climb, my loveliest.Climb . . . we cannot breathe . . . down here . . .Under the sea.

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