Perchance Leviathan of the deep sea
Would lease a lost mermaiden’s grot to me,
There of your beauty we would joyance make—
A music wistful for the sea-nymph’s sake:
Haply Elijah, o’er his spokes of fire,
Cresting steep Leo, or the Heavenly Lyre,
Spied, tranced in azure of inanest space,
Some eyrie hostel meet for human grace,
Where two might happy be—just you and I—
Lost in the uttermost of Eternity.