|
Leaves of Grass (1881-82)
contents
| previous
| next
PATROLING BARNEGAT.
WILD, wild the storm, and the sea high running, |
Steady the roar of the gale, with incessant undertone muttering, |
Shouts of demoniac laughter fitfully piercing and pealing, |
Waves, air, midnight, their savagest trinity lashing, |
Out in the shadows there milk-white combs careering, |
On beachy slush and sand spirts of snow fierce slanting, |
Where through the murk the easterly death-wind breasting, |
Through cutting swirl and spray watchful and firm advancing, |
(That in the distance! is that a wreck? is the red signal flaring?) |
View Page 209
|
Slush and sand of the beach tireless till daylight wending, |
Steadily, slowly, through hoarse roar never remitting, |
Along the midnight edge by those milk-white combs careering, |
A group of dim, weird forms, struggling, the night confronting, |
That savage trinity warily watching. |
contents
| previous
| next
|
| |