Calm art thou ‘neath the tumult of the skies

The Sea-Gull by Lloyd Mifflin Oh, had I but thy wings when storms arise, Gray spirit of the sea and of the shore! When the wild waters round thee rave and roar, Calm art thou 'neath the tumult of the skies. Thy plume hath spanned the deep's immensities; Above her vast and ever-shifting floor Thou, on thy gray wing roaming, still dost soar, Forever drawn to where the distance lies. From the dim sea's unknowable extreme Thou comest, wandering through lone water-ways To cliffs empurpled and cerulean bays; Then, rocking near some cavern's emerald gleam, Thou seem'st the soul of halcyonian days — The restful Spirit of the sea supreme.