Classic Poem

You strange, astonished-looking, angle-faced,
— Dreary-mouthed, gaping wretches of the sea,
— Gulping salt water everlastingly,
Cold-blooded, though with red your blood be graced,
And mute, though dwellers, in the roaring waste;
— And you, all shapes beside, that fishy be, —
— Some round, some flat, some long, all devilry,
Legless, unloving, infamously chaste: —

O scaly, slippery, wet, swift, staring wights,
— What is't ye do? What life lead? eh, dull goggles?
How do ye vary your vile days and nights?
— How pass your Sundays? Are ye still but joggles
In ceaseless wash? Still nought but gapes, and bites,
— And drinks, and stares, diversified with boggles?