Classic Poem

Loudly sounds the breakers' roar,
Dashing 'gainst the rocky shore,
Whirling eddies to the fore,
Backed by rolling surge.

Rising, falling, wreathed in white,
Swelling, foaming, as with spite,
On they rush with awful might,
To the cliffs' steep verge;

Overwhelming with their spray,
Precipice so rough and grey,
Then receding, mocking, gay,
Toward the open sea.