Swampscott Over The Eastern Sea Poem by Philip Henry Savage

Swampscott over the eastern sea,
And the western wall of the sea is Lynn;
And stroke by stroke on the shingle
The waves come pounding in;
Bitter waves of the bitter sea,
With a music all their own,
With the awful charm of the Gorgon
In the look of them and the tone.
And every wave gave up its soul,
That passed in a gusty breath, —
A pulse in the air, that stirred my hair,
And whispered 'Death.'