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O
grey wild sea,
Thou hast a message, thunderer, for me.
Their
huge wide backs
Thy monstrous billows raise, abysmal cracks
Dug
deep between.
One pale boat flutters over them, hardly seen.
I
hear thy roar
Call me, “Why dost thou linger on the shore
With
fearful eyes
Watching my tops visit their foam-washed skies?
This
trivial boat
Dares my vast battering billows and can float.
Death
if it find,
Are there not many thousands left behind?
Dare
my wide roar,
Nor cling like cowards to the easy shore.
Come
down and know
What rapture lives in danger and o’erthrow.”
Yes,
thou great sea,
I am more mighty and outbillow thee.
On
thy tops I rise;
’Tis an excuse to dally with the skies.
I
sink below
The bottom of the clamorous world to know.
On
the safe land
To linger is to lose what God has planned
For
man’s wide soul,
Who set eternal godhead for its goal.
Therefore
he arrayed
Danger and difficulty like seas and made
Pain
and defeat,
And put His giant snares around our feet.
The
cloud He informs
With thunder and assails us with His storms,
That
man may grow
King over pain and victor of o’erthrow
Matching
his great
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Unconquerable
soul with adverse Fate.
Take
me, be
My way to climb the heavens, thou rude great sea.
I
will seize thy mane,
O lion, I will tame thee and disdain;
Or
else below
Into thy salt abysmal caverns go,
Receive thy weight
Upon me and be stubborn as my Fate.
I
come, O Sea,
To measure my enormous self with thee.
The
Sea at Night
The grey sea creeps half-visible, half-hushed,
And
grasps with its innumerable hands
These
silent walls. I see beyond a rough
Glimmering
infinity, I feel the wash
And hear the sibilation of the waves
That whisper to each other as they push
To
shoreward side by side, – long lines and dim
Of movement flecked with quivering spots of foam,
The quiet welter of a shifting world.
Evening
A
golden evening, when the thoughtful sun
Rejects
its usual pomp in going, trees
That bend down to their green companion
And
fruitful mother, vaguely whispering, – these
And a wide silent sea. Such hour is nearest God,
–
Like
rich old age when the long ways have all been trod.
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