Saturday Rave: Seven Poems II by John Masefield

John Masefield wrote some rather obvious poetry. He wrote some utterly magnificent stuff, too, of course, but nowadays his sentimentality can be a bit squirm-making.

But how about this. It's the second of Seven Poems, and it's about as original a way of thinking as one could imagine.

You may still squirm, though. 

I know I did.

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.

Word To Use Today: salt. This word was sealt in Old English, sāl in Latin and hals in Greek.