Far Rockaway Night till Morning

 WHAT can we say of the night?
The fog night, the moon night, the fog moon night last night?

There swept out of the sea a song.

There swept out of the sea—torn white plungers.

There came on the coast wind drive
In the spit of a driven spray,
On the boom of foam and rollers,
The cry of midnight to morning:
 Hoi-a-loa.

 Hoi-a-loa.

 Hoi-a-loa.


Who has loved the night more than I have?
Who has loved the fog moon night last night more than I have?

Out of the sea that song
 —can I ever forget it?
Out of the sea those plungers
 —can I remember anything else?
Out of the midnight morning cry: Hoi-a-loa:
 —how can I hunt any other songs now?

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