Classic Poem

Gently , with sweet commotion,
Sweeping the shore,
Billows that break from ocean,
Rush to our feet;
Slaves that, with fond devotion,
Prone to adore,
Seek not to stint with measure,
Service that's meet;—
Bearing their liquid treasure,
Flinging it round,
Shouting the while the pleasure
True service knows,
Then, as if bless'd with leisure,
Flung on the yellow ground
Taking repose!