Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain;
Man marks the earth with ruin - his control
Stops with the shore; - upon the watery plain
The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain
A shadow of man’s ravage, save his own,
When for a moment, like a drop of rain,
He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan,
Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown."
"And I have loved thee, Ocean! and my joy
Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be
Borne like thy bubbles, onward: from a boy
I wantoned with thy breakers - they to me
Were a delight; and if the freshening sea
Made them a terror - ’twas a pleasing fear,
For I was as it were a child of thee,
And trusted to thy billows far and near,
And laid my hand upon thy mane - as I do here."
~ Byron, Childe Harold's Pilgrimage cantos CLXXIX and CLXXXIV
And I like this font!
So, now for a cutesy poem:
The Chickens
Said the first little chicken,
With a queer little squirm,
"I wish I could find
A fat little worm."
Said the next little chicken,
With an odd little shrug,
"I wish I could find,
A fat little slug."
Said the third little chicken,
With a sharp little squeal,
"I wish could find
Some nice yellow meal."
Said the fourth little chicken,
With a small sigh of grief,
"I wish I could find
A little green leaf."
Said the fifth little chicken
With a faint little moan,
"I wish I could find
A wee gravel stone."
"Now, see here," said the mother,
From the green garden patch,
"If you want any breakfast,
Just come here and scratch!"
~ Author Unknown
finis.
