There may be seeming calm above, but no!—
There is a pulse below which ceases not,
A subterranean working, fiery hot,
Deep in the million-hearted bosom, though
Earthquakes unlock not the prodigious show
Of elemental conflict; and this spot
Nurses most quiet bones which lie and rot,
And here the humblest weeds take root and grow.
There is a calm upon the mighty sea,
Yet are its depths alive and full of being,
Enormous bulks that move unwieldily;
Yet, pore we on it, they are past our seeing!—
From the deep sea-weed fields, though wide and ample,
Comes there no rushing sound: these do not trample!
(George MacDonald)
More Poetry from George MacDonald:
- Somnium Mystici (George MacDonald Poems)
- A Story of the Sea-Shore (George MacDonald Poems)
- The Disciple (George MacDonald Poems)
- A Book Of Strife In The Form Of The Diary Of An Old Soul - October (George MacDonald Poems)
- A Book Of Strife In The Form Of The Diary Of An Old Soul - January (George MacDonald Poems)
- A Book Of Strife In The Form Of The Diary Of An Old Soul - December (George MacDonald Poems)