Lord of Language
The long luxuriance of language breaks
in whitening crests ashore; but he who makes
those leaping lion-forms of foam
rests in a deeper home.
The lord of language must like Neptune be
dark and invisible under his lashing sea.
Under the tidal rages,
under the solid water-weight of ages,
he walks in midnight caves alone,
he rests his head upon an ancient stone,
his dreaming shakes the earth, the moon's phases
echo the liquid granite of his phrases,
he dwells at the heart of permanence and change
and his words are strange.
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