Like glad, tired children nearing home,
O little waves, so soft, so small,
How are you linked, if linked at all,
To those mid-ocean billows strong,
By fierce winds scourged and driven along,
Tossed up to heaven, and then again
Sucked in black gulfs of whelming main;
Never at rest and never spent?
Urged by a speeding discontent,
A seething strife which knows not ease,