Classic Poem

The Sea hath his treasure of silver and gold,
And store without measure of gems manifold;
Of raiment whose splendour makes pallid the fire
Of the wonderful, tender, old fabrics of Tyre.

With mistresses various, mind to their mind,
Benignant, imperious, cruel, or kind,
His robes flowing margent when red evening rules
Is blazonry argent deep-crested in gules;
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The storm that enthralls him with passionate stir
In sable recalls him to ruin and her;
When morning, ascendant, beguiles him from war,
His vesture resplendent flows azure and or.

O grim-hearted Giant, dead Saturn's stray child,
Mistrustful, defiant, we fare on thy wild —
We mortals who never may smoothen thy path,
Nor, godlike, endeavour to conquer thy wrath!

But one there is, calmer than ending of day,
A shrine-seeking palmer whom thou shalt obey!
For stronger and firmer than storms thou hast served,
And gentler than murmur of dawn-waves upcurved,

Her soul and her voice shall forbid thee to stir,
And thy heart shall rejoice in its bondage to her!