Walter Murdoch (1874–1970). The Oxford Book of Australasian Verse. 1918.
By Roderic Quinn102 . The Hidden Tide
W
That circles ceaselessly:
Stars in the sky and sister stars—
Turn in your eyes and see!
Aheave from Pole to Pole—
And kindred swayings, veiled but felt,
That noise along the soul.
And pale with pride extreme,
Draws up the sea, but what white moon
Exalts the tide of Dream?
In Vision’s golden tide
Oft bring to light misshapen shells,
And nothing worth beside.
Their singing throats are dumb;
The Inner-Deep withholds its pearls
Till turn of tide be come.
The waters inward set;
And lo, behold! aleap, alive
With glowing fish the net!
Ye have strange gain and loss,
Dragging the Deeps of Soul for pearls,
And ofttimes netting dross.
And dark with sable gloom;
Thrilled by a thousand melodies,
And silent like a tomb.
As though some Demon veiled
Had loosed the gales of Spirit-land
To ravage ways unsailed.
Rich-lit and full of ease;
The afterglow is like the light
Of sunset on tired seas.
Of those whose fate is sleep;
The sodden souls without a tide,
Dense as a rotten deep.
And wondrous thoughts uproll
When the large moon of Peace looks down
On high tide in the soul.