All the world of the waters, hoary
Now, but clothed with its own live glory,
That mates the lightning and mocks the thunder
⁠With light more living and word more proud.

⁠Strife more sweet than peace, of shoreless waves whose glee
⁠Scorns the shore and loves the wind that leaves them free,
Strange as sleep and pale as death and fair as life,
⁠Shifts the moonlight-coloured sunshine on the sea.

Toward the sunset's goal the sunless waters crowd,
⁠Fast as autumn days toward winter: yet it seems
⁠Here that autumn wanes not, here that woods and streams
Lose not heart and change not likeness, chilled and bowed,
⁠Warped and wrinkled: here the days are fair as dreams.