Classic Poem

Whene'er thy foaming beads attract my lips,
A rapid vision passes o'er my mind
Of strong Cunarders, battling with the wind,
And cosy cabins, and the roll of ships.

I hear the tempest lash the sails like whips,
I see the rigid bow its pathway find
Deep in the night, leaving in sheen behind
A snaky trail of phosphorescent tips.

Or, when thy vigor to the lees I drain,
I, from the belfry of St. Paul's behold
Gigantic London in gray winter hours,
Waiting for drowsy dawn to come again,
While the great sun, veiled in a fog of gold,
Bursts in red glory on her haughty Towers!