BEFORE A MIDNIGHT BREAKS IN STORM 1903 BEFORE a midnight breaks in storm, Or herded sea in wrath, Drive all from mind, Except Distress, which, so will prophets cry, O'ercame them, houseless, from the unhinting sky. Ere rivers league against the land In piratry of flood, Ye know what waters slip and stand Yet who will note, Till fields afloat, And washen carcass and the returning well, Trumpet what these poor heralds strove to tell? Ye know who use the Crystal Ball (To peer by stealth on Doom), The Shade that, shaping first of all, Prepares an empty room. Then doth It pass Like breath from glass, But, on the extorted vision bowed intent, Before the years reborn behold The all-pregnant sphere, Bow to the birth and sweat, but - speech denied Sit dumb or- dealt in part fall weak and wide. Yet instant to fore-shadowed need That winged men the Fates may breed These shall possess Our littleness, And in the imperial task (as worthy) lay THE BELL BUOY 1896 THEY christened my brother of old— And a saintly name he bears They gave him his place to hold At the head of the belfry-stairs, And the breeding kestrels cry. Would I change with my brother a league inland? (Shoal! 'Ware shoal!) Not I! In the flush of the hot June prime, I hear him hurry the chime To the bidding of checked Desire; Till the sweated ringers tire And the wild bob-majors die. Could I wait for my turn in the godly choir? (Shoal! 'Ware shoal!) Not I! When the smoking scud is blown, When the greasy wind-rack lowers, Apart and at peace and alone, He counts the changeless hours. (I war with a darkling sea); Would he stoop to my work in the gusty mirk? (Shoal! 'Ware shoal!) Not he! There was never a priest to pray, There was never a hand to toll, When they made me guard of the bay, And moored me over the shoal. I rock, I reel, and I roll My four great hammers ply Could I speak or be still at the Church's will? (Shoal! 'Ware shoal!) Not I! The landward marks have failed, The fog-bank glides unguessed, The spent deep feigns her rest: I lift to the swell I cry! Could I wait in sloth on the Church's oath? (Shoal! 'Ware shoal!) Not I! At the careless end of night I thrill to the nearing screw; I turn in the clearing light And the mud boils foul and blue As the blind bow backs away. Will they give me their thanks if they clear the banks? (Shoal! 'Ware shoal!) Not they! The beach-pools cake and skim, The bursting spray-heads freeze, The grey, grained ice of the seas, The plunging colliers lie. Would I barter my place for the Church's grace? (Shoal! 'Ware shoal!) Not I! Through the blur of the whirling snow, Or the black of the inky sleet, The lanterns gather and grow, And I look for the homeward fleet. Rattle of block and sheet "Ready about-stand by! Shall I ask them a fee ere they fetch the quay? (Shoal! 'Ware shoal!) Not I! I dip and I surge and I swing On the horns of death I ride. Between the course and the sand, Peril whereof I cry. Would I change with my brother a league inland? (Shoal! 'Ware shoal!) Not I! |