Classic Poem

Winged reconciler of the sea and sky,
Piloting winds that howl above the sun,
Riding the unenduring tides that run
To vex the sand with mutability,
Thou art the angel of ports never won
By proudest mariners that sail the sea,
Angel and sea-dog, winged with outland majesty!

O'er indigo depths where the palmtree crest
And tamarind from coral islands rise
Thou wert a spirit making Paradise
More beautiful for his divine unrest;
And where Icelandic kings with hoary eyes
And rudder colder than their ingot-chest
Steered poleward, thou wert there, a reveller and guest.

I watch thy domination of the air,
The level-winged and flashing silences
Through sunlit cloud and blue, ethereal ease;
And, having seen thee excellently dare
Lightning and hail, I wonder without cease
That ocean's dark necessity could bear
A freedom like to thine, valiant and poised and fair.

And now the sun is sinking down the deep
Thy wings are furled. Thy little fleet is spread
To rise and fall on long waves' crimson tread,
Outfloating Carthage. O'er earth's troubled sleep
Keep thou cold nightly vigil, and ahead
Of earth's incredible and awful sweep
Through unplumbed ether, ride upon the darkness steep.