Three times the fog rolled in to-day, a silent shroud,
From which the breakers ran like ghosts, moaning and tumbling.
Three times a startled sea-bird cried aloud,
On the wind stumbling.

But I cast my net with never a fear, though wraiths in me
And birds of wild unrest were stirring and starting and crying.
For I knew that under the sway of every sea
There is a calm lying.