[from Collected Works, T.E.Brown]


HE fishes in the night of deep sea pools
For him the nets hang long and low,
Cork-buoyed and strong ; the silver-gleaming schools
Come with the ebb and flow
Of universal tides, and all the channels glow.

Or, holding with his hand the weighted line,
He sounds the languor of the neaps,
Or feels what current of the springing brine
The cord divergent sweeps,
The throb of what great heart bestirs the middle deeps.

Thou also weavest meshes, fine and thin,
And leaguer'st all the forest ways ;
But of that sea and the great heart therein
Thou knowest nought: whole days
Thou toil'st, and hast thy end - good store of pies and jays.


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