The wrecks dissolve above us; their dust drops down from
Down to the dark, to the utter
dark, where the blind white sea-snakes are.
There is no sound, no echo of
sound, in the deserts of the deep,
Or the grey level plains of
ooze where the shell-burred cables creep.
Here in the womb of the world -
here on the tie-ribs of earth
Words, and the words of men,
flicker and flutter and beat -
Warning, sorrow and gain,
salutation and mirth -
For a Power troubles the Still
that has neither voice nor feet.
They have wakened the timeless
Things; they have killed their father Time;
Joining hands in the gloom, a
league from the last of the sun.
Hush! Men talk to-day o'er the
waste of the ultimate slime,
And a new Word runs between:
whispering, "Let us be one!"