Part 2 — TWO SEAS.

Are not those wild steeds champing on the beach, Rearing and splashing on the lonesome shore, The main land seeking frantic’ly to reach, Their white manes gleaming like the frost wreaths hoar? Steeds of the sea are they that tireless ever Beat with their sounding hoofs the hard sea sand, Lashed onward by the blast, with fierce endeavor They vainly seek the quiet of the land. Type of that wild unrest that fills the soul: The waves of longing, mad desire, and strife, Whose undertone of sorrowfullest dole Is the sad voicing of the sea called Life. A type and yet unlike—there is a shore Where the wild sea forgets the tempest’s breath, And rests in lullful silence evermore Upon the wide, white, shining strand of death. O perfect peace! O blessed mystery! Where waves of longing cease their gainless quest, And on the still sands of eternity Do melt away in an eternal rest.