Storm-Racked
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ow should I sing when buffeting salt wavesAnd stung with bitter surges, in whose mightI toss, a cockleshell? The dreadful nightMarshals its undefeated dark and ravesIn brutal madness, reeling over gravesOf vanquished men, long-sunken out of sight,Sent wailing down to glut the ghoulish spriteWho haunts foul seaweed forests and their caves.No parting cloud reveals a watery star,My cries are washed away upon the wind,My cramped and blistering hands can find no spar,My eyes with hope o'erstrained, are growing blind.But painted on the sky great visions burn,My voice, oblation from a shattered urn!
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