Classic Poem

The Storm-god came out of the ocean,
And roared through his wave-worn caves;
And hissed like a fretful demon,
Far over the foam-white waves!

But when the red sun, re-arisen,
Over-crimsoned the sea with his glow;
As calm was the long, flat billow,
As the drowned men who slumbered below.

Oh, never seemed half so lovely,
The watery, wide expanse;
Or more peacefully heaved the bosom
Of a maiden in saintly trance!

So the turbulent gusts of passion
Sweep over the storm-tossed breast;
And stir its unfathomed abysses,
With an infinite, vague unrest!

But when the invincible spirit,
Defiant, shall vanquish its pain,
Having tasted earth's bitterest sorrow,
No torture can touch it again.

For the holy, ineffable quiet,
That follows a long despair,
Comes down like a benediction
On a penitent soul at prayer!