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Poem	I saw a tiny God Sitting Under a bright blue umbrella That had white tassels And forked ribs of gold. Below him His little world Lay open to the sun. The shadow of His hat Lay upon a city. When he stretched forth His hand A lake became a dark tremble. When he kicked up His foot It became night in the mountain passes. But thou art small! There are gods far greater than thou. They rise and fall, The tumbling gods of the sea. Can thy heart heave such sighs, Such hollow savage cries, Such windy breath, Such groaning death? And can thy arm enfold The old, The cold, The changeless dreadful places Where the herds Of horned sea-monsters And the screaming birds Gather together? From those silent men That lie in the pen Of our pearly prisons, Canst thou hunt thy prey? Like us canst thou stay Awaiting thine hour, And then rise like a tower And crash and shatter? There are neither trees nor bushes In my country, Said the tiny God. But there are streams And waterfalls And mountain-peaks Covered with lovely weed. There are little shores and safe harbours, Caves for cool and plains for sun and wind. Lovely is the sound of the rivers, Lovely the flashing brightness Of the lovely peaks. I am content. But Thy kingdom is small, Said the God of the Sea. Thy kingdom shall fall; I shall not let thee be. Thou art proud! With a loud Pealing of laughter, He rose and covered The tiny God's land With the tip of his hand, With the curl of his fingers: And after-- The tiny God Began to cry
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