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I pace the
sounding sea-beach and behold
How the voluminous
billows roll and run,
Upheaving and subsiding, while
the sun
Shines through their sheeted emerald far
unrolled,
And the ninth wave, slow gathering fold by
fold
All its loose-flowing garments into one,
Plunges upon the shore, and floods the dun
Pale reach
of sands, and changes them to gold.
So in majestic
cadence rise and fall
The mighty undulations of thy
song,
O sightless bard, England's Maeonides!
And
ever and anon, high over all
Uplifted, a ninth wave
superb and strong,
Floods all the soul with its
melodious seas.
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