Ocean Moods

Poor is the nature, wanting eye and ear
     And the responsive deeps of heart and soul—
     To whom the sea’s magnificent organ-roll
And shifting pageantry of life appear
A desert waste, monotonous and drear!
     From the mid fire-zone to the frozen pole
His thousand moods a thousand forms control,
   Mixed of all glooms and glories of the year.
   Morn, noon, and midnight, and the setting sun
     Weave him mysterious robes of light and shade
     Breeze-kissed, or tempest-lashed, or overlaid
   With silver silence as of heaven begun
   His hues are myriad, and his tones o’er run
The deepest organ-pipes nu human genius made.