Shadowings 



they hasten now to break again. Into me they 

 melt, only to swell anew. But pass they must ; 

 for there is not any rest in me." 



Murmuring, the Wave replied : 



" Shall I not be scattered presently to mix with 

 the mingling of all these myriads ? How should 

 I rise again ? Never, never again can I become 

 the same." 



" The same thou never art," returned the Sea, 

 " at any two moments in thy running : perpetual 

 change is the law of thy being. What is thine 

 ' 1' ? Always thou art shaped with the sub- 

 stance of waves forgotten, waves numberless 

 beyond the sands of the shores of me. In thy 

 multiplicity what art thou ? a phantom, an 

 impermanency ! " 



" Real is pain," sobbed the Wave, " and 

 fear and hope, and the joy of the light. Whence 

 and what are these, if I be not real ? " 



"Thou hast no pain," the Sea responded, 

 " nor fear nor hope nor joy. Thou art nothing 

 save in me. I am thy Self, thine '!': thy 

 form is my dream ; thy motion is my will ; thy 

 breaking is my pain. Break thou must, because 

 there is no rest in me ; but thou wilt break only 

 to rise again, for death is the Rhythm of Life. 



