The Sea of the Sun

There is one knows not what, sweet mystery about this sea whose gently awful stirrings seem to speak of some hidden soul beneath. The delta on his forehead's veins swelled like overladen ooks. In his very sleep, his ringing cry ran through the vaulted hull ster and all the white whale spouts thick blood. With one nostril he unthinkingly snuffed the sugary musk from the bashy isles in whose sweet woods mild lovers must be walking. And with the other, consciously inhaled the salt breath of the new found sea,. that sea in which the hated white whale must even then be swimming.