Waves

I saw a tiny God

Sitting

Under a bright blue umbrella

That had white tassels

And forked ribs of gold.

Below him His little world

Lay open to the sun.

The shadow of His hat

Lay upon a city.

When he stretched forth His hand

A lake became a dark tremble.

When he kicked up His foot

It became night in the mountain passes.

    But thou art small!

There are gods far greater than thou.

They rise and fall,

The tumbling gods of the sea.

Can thy heart heave such sighs,

Such hollow savage cries,

Such windy breath,

Such groaning death?

And can thy arm enfold

The old,

The cold,

The changeless dreadful places

Where the herds

Of horned sea-monsters

And the screaming birds

Gather together?

From those silent men

That lie in the pen

Of our pearly prisons,

Canst thou hunt thy prey?

Like us canst thou stay

Awaiting thine hour,

And then rise like a tower

And crash and shatter?

There are neither trees nor bushes

In my country,

Said the tiny God.

But there are streams

And waterfalls

And mountain-peaks

Covered with lovely weed.

There are little shores and safe harbours,

Caves for cool and plains for sun and wind.

Lovely is the sound of the rivers,

Lovely the flashing brightness

Of the lovely peaks.

I am content.

But Thy kingdom is small,

Said the God of the Sea.

Thy kingdom shall fall;

I shall not let thee be.

Thou art proud!

With a loud

Pealing of laughter,

He rose and covered

The tiny God's land

With the tip of his hand,

With the curl of his fingers:

And after—

The tiny God

Began to cry