Our steps that grope the footstool.
O! go in
Say not that to your gaze has been unbar’d
The mightiness of majesty, until
You’ve stood within the shadow of that sea
And heard it call unto you—until eye
And ear have stood the terrible rebuke
That rolls from those great caverns—till your blood
Flies to its citadel, and you grow white
Within the whirlpool presence of a flood