The Barnacle

The barnacle who lifts his hat In welcome to the tide, Wholly committed to his rock.

Let nobody deride

For where he lands he takes his stand

And has the strength to bide.

The battle-bowlered barnacle, Firm as the cosmic will, From perils in the plankton wins A rockhold to be still And grips the timely stone although His pleasure can be nil.

Therefore I praise the barnacle That yields to no despair And never heard of hope nor yet Wondered why it is there But like a rock grown out of rock Holds fast in sea and air.

All human thought in embryo Begins in such a worm

And love itself is carried so Until it knows its form.

Then blessings on the barnacle, The dreadnought of the storm.

The barnacle tips up its hat.

I see a face below

That is the face of Juliet

Alight for Romeo.

From such a box Pandora loosed Things barnacles can't know.

The poor flesh of the barnacle Provides the dog-whelk's meal. Against the dog-whelk of the world

SYDNEY TREMAYNE