A dash of yellow sand, Wind-scattered and sun-tanned; Some waves that curl and cream along the margin of the strand; And, creeping close to these Long shores that lounge at ease, Old Erie rocks and ripples to a fresh sou'-western breeze. A sky of blue and grey; Some stormy clouds that play At scurrying up with ragged edge, then laughing blow away, Just leaving in their trail Some snatches of a gale; To whistling summer winds we lift a single daring sail. O! wind so sweet and swift, O! danger-freighted gift Bestowed on Erie with her waves that foam and fall and lift, We laugh in your wild face, And break into a race With flying clouds and tossing gulls that weave and interlace.
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