Chapter_225

2 0 00

The rain is fierce, it flogs the earth,

And man’s in danger.

O that my mother at my birth

Had borne a stranger!

The flooded ground is all around.

The depth uncommon.

How blest I’d be if only she

Had borne a salmon!

If still denied the solar glow

’Twere bliss ecstatic

To be amphibious⁠—but O,

To be aquatic!

We’re worms, men say, o’ the dust, and they

That faith are firm of.

O, then, be just: show me some dust

To be a worm of.

The pines are chanting overhead

A psalm uncheering.

It’s O, to have been for ages dead

And hard of hearing!

Restore, ye Pow’rs, the last bright hours

The dial reckoned;

’Twas in the time of Egypt’s prime⁠—

Rameses II.