Classic Poem

High overhead
My little daughter
Was going to bed:—
Below
In twenty fathoms of black water
A cod went sulking slow—
Perceived the light
That sparkled on the height,
Then swam
Up to the filmy level,
Brought's eye to bear
With dull fixed stare,
Then—‘Damn!’
He said—and ‘Devil!—
I thought’—but what he thought who knows?
One plunge, and off he goes
East? North?
Fares forth
To Lundy? Cardiff? But of that keen probe
That for an instant pierced the lobe
Of his sad brain,
Tickling the phosphor-grit,
How long will he retain
One bit?
And then above
My little daughter kneels, and says her prayers.
Quite right!
My little love—
Good night!
Sweet pet!
Put out the light!
And so
I go
Downstairs—
And yet—and yet—
That cod!
O God!