Faint, lazy waves o'er-creep the ridgy sand.
Ships in the calm seem anchor'd, for they glide
On the still sea, urged solely by the tide.
Crabbe.
38. Night; when the stars are gemming heaven,
And seem like angels' eyes,
Resuming still their silent watch
Within the far-off skies.
When tenderly they gaze on us,
Those children of the air,