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!