When the whale-fish of the Arctic Ocean

Is about to remove to the Celestial Lake,

It flaps its flippers on the ice waters

For a thousand feet. Then it ascends

On a whirlwind of the whole ten miles

And has its rest only at the very end

Of six-month voyage thru the azure sky

To attain the day of the Winter Solstice.

My silly question still pesters me a lot:

Is its azure the proper colour of the sky?

Or is it occasioned by its distance

And illimitable extent? I also wonder,

When the giant whale takes a look down

From the height of beyond the clouds,

Is there the same appearance of the deep

Blue waters of the World ocean

That meets its button-size orbit eyes?

Speaking of the accumulation of the ocean,

If it be not tremendously great, it would not

Have strength to support such giant kinds

Like whales and other specific creatures.

Just upset a cup of water in a hollow

And a straw will float on it as if it were a boat;

Place a cup in it and it will stick fast--

The water is shallow and the boat is too large.

It is all with the accumulation of the ocean;

If it be not tremendously great, it would not

Have strength to support the whale's flippers:

The giant ascends to the height of ten miles,

And there is such a mass of wind beneath it;

Thenceforth, the extent of air is sufficient

So that the whale bears the azure of the sky

On its back, and there is nothing to obstruct

Or arrest its course--it calmly pursues its route,

Sliding the silvered waves of the Milky Way.