The sight was that of demented sea-foam
Surging in militant waves that would crush
The squatting rocks, marching to overcome
The hedges that bound their every mad rush:
They stretched as distant as the eye could gaze,
Meeting with the element of the sky
To constitute a pow’r that could amaze
Thoughts that tend to raise one’s spirits too high:
Then again, on another more calm day
It crept to the shore as soft soothing waves
That gave one some respite from obsessed ways
Of thought — the assurances humans crave
Are there for the gathering: anxious eyes
Are quick to recognize what they despise.
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