He stares, transfixed, at the ceilings' rage
Where the tip of a hurling wave bursts to nethermore
Blue and blue, and streaks of black,
Gray, even, fixed in a wrestle uncaged

A mighty hand, rearing, storming
Gazing, struck by awe, stands a man
For lighting shook the sky,
And thunder took the ground
And forever man stood, spell-bound
But that was only a minor background

Repeatedly, his dream, his goal, was this
To conquer this might of eternal bliss
The sea of crashing, shore upon shore
Forced by the sheer will of this mighty galore
His day was haunted by the nightly dreams
But coarse was the pathway, impossible, it seems

He mounted his horse, and steered his will
Driven by first-born's persuasion, to fulfill
A fleet, a dam, he built, existing but not,
On a path to conquer,
What he had most sought