Along the coast the sea roars, and inland the mountains roar – the roaring at the center, like a distant clap of thunder.

Look when the clouds are blowing And all the winds are free:
In fury of their going They fall upon the sea.
But though the blast is frantic, And though the tempest raves,
The deep immense Atlantic Is still beneath the waves.

With shouts the torrents down the gorges go,
And storms are formed behind the storm we feel:
The hemlock shakes in the rafter, the oak in the driving keel.

Or where the Northern ocean, in vast whirls,
Boils round the naked melancholy isles
Of farthest Thulè, and th' Atlantic surge
Pours in among the stormy Hebrides.

The breaking waves dashed high
On a stern and rock-bound coast,
And the woods against a stormy sky
Their giant branches tossed.

Along the shore of the loud-roaring sea.

While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow.

When winds are raging o'er the upper ocean And billows wild contend with angry roar,
'T is 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.

Everything was screaming: the sea, the wind, my heart.

As when Eolus heaven's fair face deforms, Enwrapp'd in tempest and a night of storms; Astonish'd ocean feels the wild uproar, The refluent surges beat the sounding shore; Or thick as leaves in Autumn's golden reign,

the noise of the ocean
Trampling its granite;

The wind is rising on the sea,
The windy white foam-dancers leap;
And the sea moans uneasily,
And turns to sleep, and cannot sleep.

There were many seas. The sea roared like a tiger. The sea whispered in your ear like a friend telling you secrets. The sea clinked like small change in a pocket. The sea thundered like avalanches. The sea hissed like sandpaper working on wood. The sea sounded like someone vomiting. The sea was dead silent.

The gray sea and the long black land;
And the yellow half-moon large and low:
And the startled little waves that leap
In fiery ringlets from their sleep,
As I gain the cove with pushing prow,
And quench its speed i’ the slushy sand.