SEA MARVELS

This morning more mysterious seems the sea

Than yesterday when, with reverberant roar,

It charged upon the beaches, and the sky

Above it shimmered cloudless. Now the waves

Lap languorously along the foamless sand,

And till the far horizon swims in mist.

Out of this murk, across this oily sweep,

Might lost armadas grandly sail to shore;

Jason might oar on Argo, or the stern

Surge-wanderer from Ithaca's bleak isle

Break on the sight, or Viking prows appear,

And still not waken wonder. Aye, the sound

Of siren singing might drift o'er the main,

And yet not fall upon amazèd ears!

The soul is ripe for marvels. O great deep,

Give up your host of stately presences,

Adventurers and sea-heroes of old time,

And let them pass before us down the day

In proud procession, so that we who hear

Dull bells mark off the uneventful hours

May glimpse the bygone bravery of the world

Now moiling in its multitudinous marts,

Forgetful of fair faith and high resolve

In the inglorious grapple after gold!