A still volcano—Life—
That flickered in the night
When it was dark enough to show
Without endangering sight.
A quiet, earthquake style,
Too smoldering to suspect
By natures this side Naples.
The North cannot detect
The solemn, torrid symbol,
The lips that never lie,
Whose hissing corals part and shut
And cities slip away.
Therefore we do Life’s labor
Tho’ Life’s reward be done—
With scrupulous exactness
To hold our senses on.
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