Page:The Dream, John Masefield, 1922.djvu/36

 Water in terror like a great snow falling,

Like wool, like smoke, into a vast abysm,

With thunder of gods fighting and death calling

And gleaming sunbeams splitted by the prism

And cliffs that rose and eagles that took chrism

Even in the very seethe, and then a cave

Where at a fire I mocked me at the wave.

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