Author Richard Henry Dana The morning air blows fresh on him; The waves are dancing in his sight; The sea-birds call, and wheel, and skim, O blessed morning light!He doth not hear their joyous call; he seesNo beauty in the wave, nor feels the breeze. Tags Short Poems Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments