Classic Poem

The air is tonic with the salty breath
Of coursing billows that at last are free;
Sounds low and sweet old Ocean's symphony,
Whose thought the varying heart interpreteth.
With upturned face and folded palms in death
Lies Corpus Christi in mute effigy;
Point Loma, sphinx-like, gazes o'er the sea
Nor heeds the questioning wave that breaks beneath.
Along the shore the solemn mountains keep
Their immemorial watch; in yonder town,
Sheltered between them and the curving deep,
Unheard the tides of life move up and down.
O peace of Nature! here my burdens fall,
I rest upon the mighty Heart of all!