Surge upon surge, the miles of surf uncurl
Volutes of murmur; and the far shore foams;
The thundering billows, boiling into pearl,
The sea-wind clouds and combs.
Wave upon wave,—as when the Nereids pour,
With streaming tresses, landward, when the arms
Of Tritons reach them, racing towards the shore,—
Bursts on the beach that storms.
Oh, thou primeval solitude! that rolled
Out of creation when the world was young!
That shall roll on when man is not, and old
The ages yet unsung!
Time shall not flaw thy music!—thou hast heard
God’s spirit on thy waters, and no night
Annuls the memory of that one Word
Which blossomed into light.
With such impression as upon thy face
The soaring seagulls make, man comes and came;
And countless myriads, race on warring race,
Have found thee thus—the same.
Thy part is—to destroy, and still remain
Immutable ’midst mutability:
The symbol of all change, that clothes again
Mystery in mystery.