Classic Poem

Thou wandering waste of water,
Thou thing of many moods,
Thou hast no dusty highways,
No crowded neighborhoods.
Is land illusion only?
Our very senses swim.
There's water, water, water,
To far horizon rim.

Transcendent beauty claims thee,
For all thy noise and wrath,
We love thy lonesome grandeur,
We love the foaming path
That closes up behind us,
And leaves no single trace,
No source of sob or laughter,
No hint of form or face.

The clouds that gather o'er thee,
Salute thee as they pass,
Thou art from everlasting
Their glorious looking-glass.
The rainbows in their splendor,
The meteors as they flee,
And wheeling constellations,
Behold themselves in thee.

Old sea, we whisper softly
The names of friends we lost;
Can'st keep them sleeping soundly
In chambers tempest-tost?
Be kind to them, we pray thee,
Above their graves forlorn
Chant psalms of sounding trumpets
At resurrection morn!

Thou wandering waste of water,
Thou thing of many moods,
Thou hast no dusty highways,
No crowded neighborhoods.
Is land illusion only?
Our very senses swim.
There's water, water, water,
To far horizon rim.

Transcendent beauty claims thee,
For all thy noise and wrath,
We love thy lonesome grandeur,
We love the foaming path
That closes up behind us,
And leaves no single trace,
No source of sob or laughter,
No hint of form or face.

The clouds that gather o'er thee,
Salute thee as they pass,
Thou art from everlasting
Their glorious looking-glass.
The rainbows in their splendor,
The meteors as they flee,
And wheeling constellations,
Behold themselves in thee.

Old sea, we whisper softly
The names of friends we lost;
Can'st keep them sleeping soundly
In chambers tempest-tost?
Be kind to them, we pray thee,
Above their graves forlorn
Chant psalms of sounding trumpets
At resurrection morn!