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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