Classic Poem

The long, flat lands out reach, field after field,
Low-lying at the hem
Of snarling seas that beat against the shield
Of dykes that shelter them.

No more the landward-lifting waves will drown
These shores with storms and tide;
The guardian earth they cannot battle down;
The sea is shut outside.

I hear the voices of the days long gone
Clamour and call to me,
O love, the shelter of your arms alone
Shuts out the wolfish sea!