O, sea-soaked soul that rides the pother pale
And warm, that storms on lowing tide;
Whose heralding entails
The mist grisaille
That seeps in feather-fissures to abide!
Far-stretched your body lies across the trim
Where vast meets vast. And fast on either plane
Lie white and gold, which rim
An azure dim –
Yet both discolour fairly in the rain!
Your majesty, exuded restlessly
In foam and roil that gnaw at sturdy stone,
Is likened only to the ecstasy
One feels if he dare walk your length alone.
Offspring of Janus, clothed in circumstance,
Provide to us the gentler lot of chance
That we could taste your pastoral romance!