Rogers.    

	The tempest is o’er-blown, the skies are clear,
	And the sea charm’d into a calm so still
	That not a wrinkle ruffles her smooth face.

Dryden.    

	See me, how calm I am.
	Ay, people are generally calm at the misfortunes of others.

Goldsmith.    

	How calm—how beautiful comes on
	The stilly hour, when storms have gone,
	When warring winds have died away
	And clouds, beneath the dancing ray
	Melt off and leave the land and sea,
	Sleeping in bright tranquillity.

Moore.    

	’Tis noon—a calm, unbroken sleep
	Is on the blue waves of the deep;
	A soft haze, like a fairy dream,
	Is floating over wood and stream;
	And many a broad magnolia flower,
	Within its shadowy woodland bower,
	Is gleaming like a lovely star.

George D. Prentice.    

	Gradual sinks the breeze,
	Into a perfect calm; that not a breath
	I heard to quiver thro’ the closing woods,
	Or rustling turn the many twinkling leaves,
	Of aspen tall. The uncurling floods diffus’d
	In glassy breadth, seen through delusive lapse
	Forgetful of their course. ’Tis silence all,
	And pleasing expectation.

Thomson.