Whales Weep Not! 
             by D. H. Lawrence
            They say the sea is cold, but the sea contains the hottest blood of all, and the wildest,
              the most urgent. 
            All the whales in the wider deeps, hot are they, as they urge on and on, and dive beneath
              the icebergs. The right whales, the sperm-whales, the hammer-heads, the killers there
              they blow, there they blow, hot wild white breath out of the sea! 
            And they rock, and they rock, through the sensual ageless ages on the depths of the seven
              seas, and through the salt they reel with drunk delight and in the tropics tremble they
              with love and roll with massive, strong desire, like gods. Then the great bull lies up
              against his bride in the blue deep bed of the sea, as mountain pressing on mountain, in
              the zest of life: and out of the inward roaring of the inner red ocean of whale-blood
              the long tip reaches strong, intense, like the maelstrom-tip, and comes to rest in the
              clasp and the soft, wild clutch of a she-whale's fathomless body. 
            And over the bridge of the whale's strong phallus, linking the wonder of whales the burning
              archangels under the sea keep passing, back and forth, keep passing, archangels of bliss
              from him to her, from her to him, great Cherubim that wait on whales in mid-ocean, suspended
              in the waves of the sea great heaven of whales in the waters, old hierarchies. 
            And enormous mother whales lie dreaming suckling their whale- tender young and dreaming
              with strange whale eyes wide open in the waters of the beginning and the end. 
            And bull-whales gather their women and whale-calves in a ring when danger threatens,
              on the surface of the ceaseless flood and range themselves like great fierce Seraphim
              facing the threat encircling their huddled monsters of love. And all this happens in the
              sea, in the salt where God is also love, but without words: and Aphrodite is the wife
              of whales most happy, happy she! 
            and Venus among the fishes skips and is a she-dolphin she is the gay, delighted porpoise
              sporting with love and the sea she is the female tunny-fish, round and happy among the
              males and dense with happy blood, dark rainbow bliss in the sea. 
            
             
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              Weep Not! D. H. Lawrence</a> One of the most invigorating authors captures the plight
              of the whale in a poem that should be required reading by all. 
               
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