He waits by the door of his cave While the ages moan. He cracks the ribs of the ships With his teeth of stone. In his gizzard deep and long Much treasure lies. Oh, the pearls and the Spanish gold.... And the idols’ eyes.... Oh, the totem poles ... the skulls ... The altars cold ... The wedding rings, the dice ... The buoy bells old. Chorus:--This is the voice, etc. III Dive, mermaids, with sharp swords And cut him through, And bring us the idols’ eyes And the red gold too. Lower the grappling hooks Good pirate men And drag him up by the tongue From his deep wet den. We will sail to the end of the world, We will nail his hide To the main mast of the moon In the evening tide. Chorus:--This is the voice, etc. IV Or will you let him live, The deep-sea thing, With the wrecks of all the world In a black wide ring By the hole in the bottom of the sea Where the snake goes down, Where he waits in the bottom of the sea For the men that drown? Chorus:--This is the voice, etc. THE LITTLE TURTLE _A Recitation for Martha Wakefield, Three Years Old_ There was a little turtle. He lived in a box. He swam in a puddle. He climbed on the rocks. He snapped at a musquito. He snapped at a flea. He snapped at a minnow. And he snapped at me. He caught the musquito. He caught the flea. He caught the minnow. But he didn’t catch me. THIRD SECTION COBWEBS AND CABLES THE SCIENTIFIC ASPIRATION Would that the dry hot wind called Science came, Forerunner of a higher mystic day, Though vile machine-made commerce clear the way-- Though nature losing shame should lose her veil, And ghosts of buried angel-warriors wail The fall of Heaven, and the relentless Sun Smile on, as Abraham’s God forever dies-- Lord, give us Darwin’s eyes! THE VISIT TO MAB When glad vacation time began A snail-king said to his dear spouse, “Come, let us lock our birch-bark house And visit some important man. “Each summer we have hoped to go To see the sultan Gingerbread Who wears chopped citron on his head And currant love-locks in a row. “And see his vizier Chocolate Bill And Popcorn Man, his pale young priest. They live twelve inches to the east Behind the lofty brown-bread hill.” His wife said: “Simple elegance Is what we want. It is the mode To take the little western road To where the blue-grass fairies dance. “I think the queen will recognize Our atmosphere of wealth and ease. My steel-grey shell is sure to please, And she will fear your fiery eyes.” And so they visited proud Mab. The firs were laughing overhead, The chattering roses burned deep-red. The snails were queer and dumb and drab. The contrast made them quite the thing. A setting spells success at times. Mab gave the queen a book of rhymes. A tissue-cap she gave the king,