and rifts in the splendour,

sparks and scattered light.

Many warned of this,

men said:

there are wrecks on the fore-beach,

wind will beat your ship,

there is no shelter in that headland,

it is useless waste, that edge,

that front of rock—

sea-gulls clang beyond the breakers,

none venture to that spot.

IV

But hail—

as the tide slackens,

as the wind beats out,

we hail this shore—

we sing to you,

spirit between the headlands

and the further rocks.

Though oak-beams split,

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