The Poet

An Allegory

He plunged beneath the unfathomable sea,
Whose waves are strong and dread;
The mighty billows roaring maddeningly
Thundered above his head.

He had but faith and an unwavering will;
He had undying love,
And a fervent spirit that could brook no ill,
When he left the storm above.

The Kraken’s slime about him grossly wound;
He battled hard and long;
Gruesome sea-things beset him all around,
But he was strong.

The brackish waters all around him swirled,
And tossed him to and fro;
In madding tides and currents fierce he whirled,
And still he plunged below.

At last he touched the sunless, rocky ground;
Far, far above did the billows roll;
Alone, untouched, there fathoms deep he found
The smallness of his soul.

And there bereft of strength and hope and will,
Bereft of all but faith alone,
Lost in confusion and blackness – succumbed to ill,
And made at last his groan:

And that great One in whom all creatures move,
From his high, holy throne,
Mighty and terrible, was moved with love,
And heard his groan;

And lift him up, and set him on a cliff,
Where the briny breezes blow;
And there he watched the billows skip and skiff,
Far, far below.

And since, whene’er he walks among the crowd,
Wond’ring, they stop and turn:
His look is calm and tender, his shoulders bowed –
But his searching glances burn;

And when he touched the sacred flame, or how,
They nor see, nor know it:
But the name is boldly blazoned on his brow,
Of ‘Poet’.

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