Classic Poem

Two men abreast, and though touched with gray,
Yet bouyant hearts have we;
And we love the white-maned Horses' neigh
As they romp along the sea!

When the petrel, blown by the tempest-wings,
Beats up against the gale,
And the syren-harp of the rigging sings,
We thrill to the bellied sail.

As we bend to the storm on the beach today
No waft from the South crave we,
But the crisp keen cut of the tingling spray
And tang of the bitter sea!

We laugh in the face of the blustering tide,
Storm-beat, but a joyous pair,
As we drink to the drones of the fireside
In wine of the pungent air!