SEAWEED 



When descends on the Atlantic 



The gigantic 



Storm-wind of the equinox, 

 Landward in his wrath he scourges 



The toiling surges, 

 Laden with seaweed from the rocks; 



From Bermuda's reefs; from edges 



Of sunken ledges 

 In some far-off, bright Azore; 

 From Bahama and the dashing, 



Silver-flashing 

 Surges of San Salvador; 



Ever drifting, drifting, drifting 



On the shifting 

 Currents of the restless main; 

 Till in sheltered coves, and reaches 



Of sandy beaches, 

 All have found repose again. 



LONGFELLOW. 



