Classic Poem

So many eyes the sun must sink within
The westward plain of shoreless, homeless sea;
So many morns, as if from heaven to heaven,
From out the widening water in the east
The sun must rise; so many summer days,
Full in the face of the unveiled sky,
The ship must float, till even the strongest gull,
Deserting, wheels to track a land-bound sail.
So many days! Yet there shall come a day —
Some golden, holy, August afternoon —
When, tired of sea at eve and sea at morn,
The sun shall droop like a contented child,
And sleep among the cradling hillSof home.