Mooring

What are thy rocks and cliffs,Draped by the sea-weed’s drift;Barnacled and lashedBy the waves that dashForever more?

What are thy rocks and shoals,Anchored in ancient mold,Scarred by the pebbles that rollCeaselessly seeking a holdOn ocean strand?

What are thy rocks, O Sea?What do they mean to me?—Not monolith bulk alone;They are voices calling me home,Ceaselessly calling.