A thing of watery salt

The more I read John Masefield’s sonnets the more I admire him. He may not be very well-known or fashionable now, but what a master of imagery. The full moon swimming from her cave? The great sun comes North? I must admit though, I don’t quite understand the last couplet… I have checked to see if there is a misprint in the edition I have, but no, it is as I have written it. No matter; the sound of the words, and the pictures Masefield offers are enough!

XII

What am I, Life? A thing of watery salt
Held in cohesion by unresting cells,
Which work they know not why, which never halt,
Myself unwitting where their Master dwells
.I do not bid them, yet they toil, they spin;
A world which uses me as I use them,
Nor do I know which end or which begin
Nor which to praise, which pamper, which condemn.
So, like a marvel in a marvel set,
I answer to the vast, as wave by wave
The sea of air goes over, dry or wet,
Or the full moon comes swimming from her cave,
Or the great sun comes north, this myriad I
Tingles, not knowing how, yet wondering why.