The silence of that first-born day
Was broken by the endless roar
Of waves that writhed and thrashed and bore
Upon the stretch of land that lay
Across that world of spume and spray.
. . . . . . .
Sharp and rugged rocks and peaks
Break away from strips of sand
Separating sea from land.
The watery waste of surges seeks
To show what pain in wrath she wreaks.
Great centuries have lived and gone:
Ocean has with restless pace
Surged and streamed through Lifetime’s race.
From every life has Ocean drawn
Since the twilight of her dawn.