The Migration of Birds

Where the Northern Ocean in vast whirls,Boils round the naked melancholy islesOf farthest Thule, and the Atlantic surgePours in among the stormy Hebrides;Who can recount what transmigrations thereAre annual made? what nations come and go?And how the living clouds on clouds arise?Infinite wings! till all the plume-dark air,And rude resounding shore are one wild cry.