Far in the depths of the dark green sea A forest of scrawny weeds Imprisons a giant and holds him fast, Twine themselves round his knotted hand And chain him down to their sunless land Where the waves rush raging past. His face is hard with deep’ning lines, And his eyes are glazed with slime, Yet, deep in his heart there grows a hope That he will be freed by time. He is the God of Things to Be, Chained to the floor of the thoughtless sea. Transcriber’s note Minor punctuation errors have been changed without notice. Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized where appropriate. Page 9: “rogueishly uses them” “roguishly uses them”