Classic Poem

Oh, for the dull and muffled roar
And the hiss of the breaking foam,
Where the green wave tumbles along the shore
With the sea-light in its comb!
Oh, for the breath of the tide-filled pond
Where the seaweed sways and dips,
And the deep-blue spread of the sea beyond,
With its far-off sailing ships!

With its sailing ships on their far-off ways
Where they leave no track behind,
But the shore sinks down in the landward haze
As they run with the free sea-wind;
With their strange sea-folk that have lived alone
On the wide-rimmed deep swung free,
Till they seem in key with the undertone
Of the ceaseless changing sea.

Then sing me, wind, of the wild sea-songs
Till I scent the salt, salt spray,
For my soul is parched and athirst, and longs
For the sound of the surf to-day.
But I know I shall see, if I lift my eyes,
Close round upon every hand,
The glare of the brass-hued prairie skies
And the sun-scorched, dead-grass land.