Classic Poem

The wind blows in along the sea —
Its salty wet caresses
Impart to all the ships that be
A thrill before it passes.

The tide is never at a stand,
A mountain in its motion,
Forever homing to the land,
And ever to the ocean.

And on its fickle, mighty breast
The waters still are moving,
With love in every running crest
And laughter in the loving —

Light love to touch the prows of ships
That slip along so slenderly.
I would as lightly touch your lips,
And your heart as tenderly,

If you would move with all that move,
The flowing and caressing,
Who have no firmness in their love,
No sorrow in its passing.