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Ye waves That o'er th' interminable ocean wreathe Your crisped smiles.

The burden of the desert of the sea. As whirlwinds in the south pass through; so it cometh from the desert, from a terrible land.

He maketh the deep to boil like a pot: he maketh the sea like a pot of ointment.

When I made the cloud the garment thereof, and thick darkness a swaddlingband for it, And brake up for it my decreed place, and set bars and doors, And said, Hitherto shalt thou come, but no further: and here shall thy proud waves be stayed?

If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea; Even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me.

Deep calleth upon deep at the noise of thy waterspouts: all thy waves and thy billows are gone over me.

The sea heaves up, hangs loaded o'er the land, Breaks there, and buries its tumultuous strength.

That make the meadows green; and, poured round all, Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste,-- Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man.

Once more upon the waters! yet once more! And the waves bound beneath me as a steed That knows his rider.

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean--roll! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain; Man marks the earth with ruin--his control Stops with the shore.

Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow, Such as Creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now.

The image of Eternity--the throne Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone.

And I have loved them, Ocean! and my joy Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be Borne, like shy bubbles, onward; from a boy I wanton'd with thy breakers. . . . . And laid my hand upon thy mane--as I do here.

There's not a sea the passenger e'er pukes in, Turns up more dangerous breakers than the Euxine.

What are the wild waves saying, Sister, the whole day long, That ever amid our playing I hear but their low, lone song?

I never was on the dull, tame shore, But I loved the great sea more and more.

The sea! the sea! the open sea! The blue, the fresh, the ever free! Without a mark, without a bound, It runneth the earth's wide regions round; It plays with the clouds; it mocks the skies; Or like a cradled creature lies.

The great fishpond .

Behold the Sea, The opaline, the plentiful and strong, Yet beautiful as is the rose in June, Fresh as the trickling rainbow of July; Sea full of food, the nourisher of kinds, Purger of earth, and medicine of men; Creating a sweet climate by my breath, Washing out harms and griefs from memory, And, in my mathematic ebb and flow, Giving a hint of that which changes not.

The sea is flowing ever, The land retains it never.