 | Collected poems |  |
191
THE VOICE OF THE SEA
The sea was hoary, hoary,
Beating on rock and cave:
The winds were white and weeping
With foam dust of the wave.
Beating on rock and cave:
The winds were white and weeping
With foam dust of the wave.
They thundered louder, louder,
With storm-lips curled in scorn—
And dost thou tremble before us,
O fallen star of morn?
With storm-lips curled in scorn—
And dost thou tremble before us,
O fallen star of morn?
| Collected poems | |