Classic Poem

From what long shore, O wastrel company!
Come on the pulse of what distressful wings?
What discord internecine sunders ye
Each from his fellow, stony-hearted kings
O' the air, sailing remote, askance? The sea
Storm-tost and black reckt not your hankerings,
But drove you like a snow-cloud from her lee,
To bicker and swoop o'er sodden river things
Like snowflakes in a riot of unrest
They drift athwart the winter beam o' the sun,
Wrangling and battling their wild wings, and scream
Harsh challenge; or deep-nested in the stream
Search the waste waters desolate and dun;
Then beating upwards urge their clamorous quest