Algy was trying to help his assistant finish his book, but his mind kept dozing and drifting and he just couldn’t seem to concentrate. It had been a long, long, weary winter, and all he wanted to do was rest. So he reclined against the tall Marram grasses, lazily watching the grey mist roll in from the sea, and dreamed of this and that. He was reminded of a poem by Longfellow:
Becalmed upon the sea of Thought,
Still unattained the land it sought,
My mind, with loosely-hanging sails,
Lies waiting the auspicious gales.
On either side, behind, before,
The ocean stretches like a floor, –
A level floor of amethyst,
Crowned by a golden dome of mist.
Blow, breath of inspiration, blow!
Shake and uplift this golden glow!
And fill the canvas of the mind
With wafts of thy celestial wind.
Blow, breath of song! until I feel
The straining sail, the lifting keel,
The life of the awakening sea,
Its motion and its mystery!
[Algy is quoting the poem Becalmed by the 19th century American poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.]