Mighty waters marched with weary
Ebb and flow.
Stately ships, perhaps, did wander
Back and forth,
Mighty ice-flows drift and thunder
From the North.
Now, where roiled that restless ocean,
Tides of green, with ceaseless motion,
Meet and flow.
And this gentle, mystic murmur
Of the dawn
Is the voice of billows firmer
That are gone.
And the wraith of that old billow
Is the haze,
Floating softly through the mellow
Amethystine, when the golden
Sun is low,
As the waves were in that olden
Mighty plain ! where greenly waving
Thou art still an ocean, laving
At my feet!
__Albert Bigelow Paine.