Did waves indignant here with storm invest
Some castle huge, and straw it on the sand?
Or did Viking rangers of this land,
Who bade yon stone tree Yggdrasil attest
That Christ, not Balder, was the Captain blest,
Build here a ladder huge whereon to stand,
Whence all the waves to Mona might be scanned,
And every sail be questioned from the west?
No answer comes: the stones are hoar and strange,
Hairy with weeds, with limpets overgrown;
They keep their secret well; tide after tide
Their heads beneath the ocean’s brim they hide;
No storm their dumb confederacy can change,
Their call to fancy can no waters drown.
(Sonnets Round the Coast, p. 94)