There May Be Seeming Calm Above, But No!-- There Is A Pulse Below Which Ceases Not, A Subterranean Working, Fiery Hot, Deep In The Million-Hearted Bosom, Though Earthquakes Unlock Not The Prodigious Show Of Elemental Conflict; And This Spot Nurses Most Quiet Bones Which Lie And Rot, And Here The Humblest Weeds Take Root And Grow. There Is A Calm Upon The Mighty Sea, Yet Are Its Depths Alive And Full Of Being, Enormous Bulks That Move Unwieldily; Yet, Pore We On It, They Are Past Our Seeing!-- From The Deep Sea-Weed Fields, Though Wide And Ample, Comes There No Rushing Sound: These Do Not Trample!