Classic Poem

On crags of spuming granite
The waves' long heaps were hurled;
Down endless sands the ocean
Went walking round the world.

Fronting creation's pageant
My small thoughts seemed a lie:
Clouds great as mighty cities
Sat in a windless sky.

I looked close for a comrade
And found him, with a smile, —
An ant...lost...up a grassblade...
That waved his arms a while!