The world below the brine,
Forests at the bottom of the sea, the branches and leaves,
Sea-lettuce, vast lichens, strange flowers and seeds, the
　　　　　thick　tangle openings, and pink turf,
Different colors, pale gray and green, purple, white, and
　　　　　gold, the　play of light through the water,
Dumb swimmers there among the rocks, coral, gluten, grass, rushes,
and the aliment of the swimmers,
Sluggish existences grazing there suspended, or slowly
　　　　　crawling close to the bottom,
The sperm-whale at the surface blowing air and spray,
　　　　　or disporting with his flukes,
The leaden-eyed shark, the walrus, the turtle, the hairy
　　　　　sea-leopard, and the sting-ray,
Passions there, wars, pursuits, tribes, sight in those
　　　　　ocean-depths, breathing that thick-breathing air,
　　　　　as so many do,
The change thence to the sight here, and to the subtle
　　　　　air breathed by beings like us who walk this sphere,
The change onward from ours to that of beings who
　　　　　walk other spheres.