Page:Poems and ballads, third series (IA poemsballadsthir00swin).pdf/77

 Than man's, whose faint heart sickens With hopes and fears that blight Such life as thrills and quickens The silence of thy flight.

Thy cry from windward clanging Makes all the cliffs rejoice; Though storm clothe seas with sorrow, Thy call salutes the morrow; While shades of pain seem hanging Round earth's most rapturous voice, Thy cry from windward clanging Makes all the cliffs rejoice.

We, sons and sires of seamen, Whose home is all the sea, What place man may, we claim it; But thine—whose thought may name it?