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TO THE OCEAN
Ah! let me be thy pupil, mighty Deep!
Yet speak thou gently to me, for I fear
Thy voice of terror, nor desire to learn
Those lessons that do make the mariner
Shrink in his dreams.
My Mother Earth imparts
An easier lore. She talketh of her sons.
Her level'd mountains, and her corn-clad vales,
Town, tower, and temple, and triumphal arch,
All speak of man, and moulder while they speak.
But, of whose architecture, and design,
Tell thine eternal fountains, when they rise
To combat with the clouds, or when they fall?
