Not atop a hill, nor in a religious place,
Not a leader, nor a sage in a hermitage,
Not a king, nor a healer prima facie,
But in my Son, lies my Guru ! ...
Her nature is the sea's, that smiles to-night
A radiant maiden in the moon's soft light;
The unsuspecting seaman sets his sails,
Forgetful of the fury of her gales;
To-morrow, mad with storms, the ocean roars,
And o'er his hapless wreck the flood she pours!