Calm Day with Rollers
by S. Foster Damon

Always the ships that move in mystery on the dim horizon, 
Shadow-filled sails of dreams, sliding over the blue-grey ocean, 
Far from the rock-edged shore where willow-green waves are rushing, 
And white foam-people leap, to stand erect for the moment. 

Ho! ye sails that seem to wander in dream-filled meadows, 
Say, is the shore where I stand the only field of struggle, 
Or are ye hit and battered out there by waves and wind-gusts 
As ye tack over a clashing sea of watery echoes?