THERE is no music that man has heard
Like the voice of the minstrel Sea,
Whose major and minor chords are fraught
With infinite mystery, —
For the Sea is a harp, and the winds of God
Play over his rhythmic breast,
And bear on the sweep of their mighty wings
The song of a vast unrest.
There is no passion that man has sung,
Like the love of the deep-souled Sea,
Whose tide responds to the Moon’s soft light
With marvelous melody, —
For the Sea is a harp, and the winds of God
Play over his rhythmic breast,
And bear on the sweep of their mighty wings
The song of a vast unrest.
There is no sorrow that man has known,
Like the grief of the wordless Main,
Whose Titan bosom forever throbs
With an untranslated pain, —
For the Sea is a harp, and the winds of God
Play over his rhythmic breast,
And bear on the sweep of their mighty wings
The song of a vast unrest.
William Hamilton Hayne.