Classic Poem

Canst thou with hooks Leviathan draw out
Or with a chord let down amidst the deep
Canst thou put hooks into his mountain nose
Or bore his jaw through with a feeble thorn
Will he to thee a supplication make
Or speak soft words to make a friend of thee
Will he with thee make covenant — or thou
Make him for aye thy servant or thy slave
Wilt thou as with a bird play with his strength
Or bind him for thy maidens sportive smiles
Shall thy companions banquet on his flesh
Or part him among merchants for rich gain
Or canst thou fill his skin with barbed hooks
Or pierce his island of a head with spears
Lay thy hand on him & the battle fear
Remember thou the strife & do no more
Thy hopes of him behold are all in vain
Shall not one at his sight be soon cast down
To stir him up theres none so fierce to dare
Who then is able by my power to stand
Who hath prevented that I should repay
All under the whole heavens lives as mine
His parts & powers I will not consceal
His great proportions & his jiant powers
The facing of his garment who can see
Or with his double bridle tamper him
The doors of his face who can unlock
His teeth stand round as terrible as death
His scales they are his pride shut up secure
From mortal eye as is a closed seal
One to another joins the common air
Comes not between them — nor a passage finds
They stick & join & sundering is in vain
He neeses & a splendid light doth shine
His eyes are like the mornings bright & fair
Out of his mouth breath comes like burning lamps
& issuing sparks leap out as living fire
His nostrils as a boiling chaldron smokes
His breath is kindled coals — & terrors flames
Come issuing from his mouth in terrors play
In's neck like to a mountain strength remains
& sorrow before him is turned to joy
His flakes of flesh join firm within themselves
& fast as is the mountain cant be moved
His heart is like the stone of adamant
Nay as the nether mill stone firm & hard
When he is roiled the mighty are affraid
When he breaks forth they purifye themselves
The sword assailing him will never hold
The dark harbergeon or glittering spear
Iron is straw & brass as rotten wood
The arrow neither makes him fear or flee
Sling stones are stubble aiming at his power
Darts count as rotten straw & are no more
He laugheth at the shaking of a spear
Sharp stones are under him he heeds them not
He spreads sharp pointed things upon the mire
The sea beneath him like a chaldron boils
& like a pot of oil or ointment shines
& after him a path of light shines far
One thinks the sea all hoary where he swims
Earth owns nought like him made without a fear
High things are open to his mountain view
King over all the children brutes of pride.