The sea is here, it hath not any shore,
Nor moves with moving of wind-driven waves
Which, undulant and writhing—naked slaves
To the uneasy wanderer of heaven’s floor,
Bow sullen backs beneath their master’s store
He brought with viewless hands from broken graves—
The sea is here, and in its silent caves
Moves not, tho the wind clamors more and more.
The sea is here, an infinite undertone;
But lo! upon its surface I descry