Classic Poem

Now rolls the sounding Ocean
'Neath nights tenebrious wing
How wild is that eternal motion
That sullen slow unceasing swing
Of waves & billows loudly roaring
Under cloud-becurtained skies
Up the scattered foam-bell flies
While down the dashing torrent's pouring
And rejoicing in the storm
Glides through all the aeriel form
Of some snow [w]hite sea-bird fair
Borne on sleek wings light as air
Now the dull uncertain sound
Of rising wind moans oft around