James Thomas Fields

Is n’t God upon the ocean Just the same as on the land?

The skipper stormed and tore his hair, Hauled on his boots and roared at Marden— "Nantucket's sunk and here we are Right over old Marm Hackett’s garden!"

Oh, to be home again, home again, home again! Under the apple-boughs, down by the mill!

"I’m an owl; you’re another. Sir Critic, good day." And the barber kept on shaving.

Just then, with a wink and a sly normal lurch, The owl very gravely got down from his perch, Walked round, and regarded his fault-finding critic (Who thought he was stuffed) with a glance analytic.