Classic Poem

Old Ocean, source of mystic power,
I love thy solemn hymn,
The hollowed murmurs of thy lip,
And saddened memories dim,
Yet shrink to meet thy terrors grim.

Nor marvel that thine own dark waves
Refuse to give thee rest;
For thine are dark, mysterious deeds,
Born of a troubled breast,
Still unatoned and unconfessed.

And yet methinks kind sympathies
With human hearts are thine;
A wish to soothe the wail of grief, —
The grief that's ever mine
For her whose form thy depths enshrine.