Classic Poem

Close as a limpet clinging to the rocks,
Battered and drenched by the remorseless gale,
I watch the wild commotion it has made,
Through the dim twilight peering eagerly.
The waves are running higher than the masts
Of the small craft they drive so swift along,
Driven themselves by the loud-cracking whip
Of the fierce wind, and chasing each the next
With foam, like hair, blown wild before the blast.
That flying fringe of foam from every wave
Is like the breath of restless, fiery steeds,
As from their quivering nostrils it is driven
Gainst the hot flanks that steam just on before,
When all the field is torn with flying hoofs,
And all the air is full of cheering cries,
A moment ere the hosts in battle join.
The waves, like steeds, are pawing at the rocks,
And snorting loud and roaring as in pain;
While, like a streamer long, the flying spray
Tugs at the harbor-buoy, and like a dog
In leash, or tiger chained, at every pier
Some vessel strains and frets and chafes in vain.
And there are cries of quick and sharp command,
Thick-spiced with oaths, borne shoreward on the wind
From schooners' decks as they drift hopelessly,
Dragging their anchors at their cables' length,
To dash, at last, upon the pitiless rocks
And strew their tackle on the whelming sea.
And, as I watch the elemental rage,
My heart is wild with joy and ecstasy.

Now all is dark, and now a sudden flash
Of lightning from an ebon mass of cloud
Turns every crest to gold; to gold the masts
Of every vessel hurrying to her doom;
To gold the light-house at the harbor's mouth,
Sending its steadfast warning o'er the bay;
And by that flash I see, not far away,
A woman's face, as pale as palest death,
And haggard, too, with speechless agony.
My joy is done. O woman, Heaven keep
Thy husband 'mid the smiting of the seas,
And bring him safely to thine arms again,
And to the mute caresses of his babes!