THE CONTEMPLATIVE SOUL.

Fathoms from sight and hearing, Where seas are blind and deaf. My soul like a fish goes steering Her fabulous gargoyle nef: Her nef of silver and mouldering Mother-of-pearl with eyes Of bulging coral smouldering Down dim green galleries. To climb the brightening ladder Of layer on layer of the sea She dare not; her swimming-bladder Would burst in the ecstasy Of sunlight and windy motion, White moons and the sky’s red gates. Still in the depth of ocean She sits and contemplates.