There's something quieter than sleep

Within this inner room!

It wears a sprig upon its breast —

And will not tell its name.


Some touch it, and some kiss it —

Some chafe its idle hand —

It has a...

Poet:

Though the great Waters sleep,

That they are still the Deep,

We cannot doubt —

No vacillating God

Ignited this Abode

To put it out —

Poet: