The Ocean

The ocean flows, the mighty waves, Chanting the olden songs of graves; Their rhythm like the heart’s own beat, In foam and spray they rush and meet.

Oh ye waves of deep blue, That rush upon a shore anew, With every tide you ebb and flow, Your whispered secrets none can know.

What tales you hide beneath your crest, Of tempests wild—of tranquil rest, For in your vastness lies a peace, Where worldly worries seem to cease.

Yet when the storms do howl and roar, You shatter bones upon the shore; And in the moonlight glisten fair, The ocean holds a balm for care.

• George William Curtis