Currents for starting a continent new, Overtures sent to the solid out of the liquid, Fusion of ocean and land, tender and pensive waves, (Not safe and peaceful only, waves rous’d and ominous too, Out of the depths the storm’s abysmic waves, who knows whence? Raging over the vast, with many a broken spar and tatter’d sail.)

Or from the sea of Time, collecting vasting all, I bring, A windrow-drift of weeds and shells.