The world below the brine,
 Forests at the bottom of the sea,
   the branches and leaves,
 Sea-lettuce, vast lichens, strange flowers
   and seeds, the thick tangle, openings, 
   and pink turf,
 Different colors, pale gray and green,
   purple, white, and gold, the play of light
   through the water,
 Dumb swimmers there among the rocks,
   coral, gluten, grass, rushes, and the
   aliment of the swimmers,
 Sluggish existences grazing there suspended,
   or slowly crawling close to the bottom,
 The sperm-whale at the surface blowing air
   and spray, or disporting with his flukes,
 The leaden-eyed shark, the walrus, the
   turtle, the hairy sea-leopard, and the 
   sting-ray,
 Passions there, wars, pursuits, tribes, 
   sight in those ocean-depths, breathing
   that thick-breathing air, as many do,
 The change thence to the sight here,
   and to the subtle air breathed by beings
   like us who walk this sphere,
 The change onward from ours to that of 
   beings who walk other spheres.