A Quote by Charles Mackay

Some love to roam o'er the dark sea's foam, Where the shrill winds whistle free. — © Charles Mackay
Some love to roam o'er the dark sea's foam, Where the shrill winds whistle free.
Winds of May, that dance on the sea, Dancing a ring-around in glee From furrow to furrow, while overhead The foam flies up to be garlanded, In silvery arches spanning the air, Saw you my true love anywhere? Welladay! Welladay! For the winds of May! Love is unhappy when love is away!
Who has not felt how sadly sweet The dream of home, the dream of home, Steals o'er the heart, too soon to fleet, When far o'er sea or land we roam?
In the sea of words, the in print is foam, surf bubbles riding the top. And it's a dark sea, and deep, where divers need lights on their helmets and would perish at the lower depths.
As down in the sunless retreats of the ocean Sweet flowers are springing no mortal can see, So deep in my soul the still prayer of devotion, Unheard by the world, rises silent to Thee. As still to the star of its worship, though clouded, The needle points faithfully o'er the dim sea, So dark when I roam in this wintry world shrouded, The hope of my spirit turns trembling to Thee.
Like mighty eagle soaring light. O'er antelopes on Alpine height. The anchor heaves, the ship swings free, The sails swell full. To sea, to sea!
Bursts as a wave that from the clouds impends, And swell'd with tempests on the ship descends; White are the decks with foam; the winds aloud Howl o'er the masts, and sing through every shroud: Pale, trembling, tir'd, the sailors freeze with fears; And instant death on every wave appears.
O skies, be calm! O winds, blow free - Blow all my ships safe home to me! But if thou sendest some a-wrack, To never more come sailing back, Send any - all that skim the sea, But bring my love-ship home to me.
The clouds are scudding across the moon, A misty light is on the sea; The wind in the shrouds has a wintry tune, And the foam is flying free.
The fair breeze blew, The white foam flew, And the forrow followed free. We were the first to ever burst into the silent sea.
When winds are raging o'er the upper ocean And billows wild contend with angry roar, 'Tis said, far down beneath the wild commotion That peaceful stillness reigneth evermore. Far, far beneath, the noise of tempests dieth And silver waves chime ever peacefully, And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er it flyeth Disturbs the Sabbath of that deeper sea.
So to the lyre of Orpheus they struck with their oars, The furious water of the sea, and the surge broke into waves. Here and there the dark brine gushed with foam, Roaring terribly through the strength of the mighty men.
There is the churning and the boiling of the sea, and the foam on top of it and that is what man is, churning and foam together.
The saddest day has gleams of light, The darkest wave hath bright foam beneath it. There twinkles o'er the cloudiest night, Some solitary star to cheer it.
I am forever walking upon these shores, Betwixt the sand and the foam, The high tide will erase my food prnts, And the wind will blow away the foam, But the sea and the shore will remain forver
I think some orator commenting upon that fate said that though the winds of heaven might whistle around an Englishman's cottage, the King of England could not.
The sun's rim dips; the stars rush out: At one stride comes the dark; With far-heard whisper o'er the sea, Off shot the spectre-bark.
This site uses cookies to ensure you get the best experience. More info...
Got it!