The Atlantic is a stormy moat; and the Mediterranean, br The blue pool in the old garden, br More than five thousand years has drunk sacrifice br Of ships and blood, and shines in the sun; but here the Pacific-- br Our ships, planes, wars are perfectly irrelevant. br Neither our present blood-feud with the brave dwarfs br Nor any future world-quarrel of westering br And eastering man, the bloody migrations, greed of power, clash of br faiths-- br Is a speck of dust on the great scale-pan. br Here from this mountain shore, headland beyond stormy headland br plunging like dolphins through the blue sea-smoke br Into pale sea--look west at the hill of water: it is half the br planet: br this dome, this half-globe, this bulging br Eyeball of water, arched over to Asia, br Australia and white Antartica: those are the eyelids that never br close; br this is the staring unsleeping br Eye of the earth; and what it watches is not our wars.