you sink as the tide sinks,

you shrill under hail, and sound

thunder when thunder sounds.

[5]

You are useless—

when the tides swirl

your boulders cut and wreck

the staggering ships.

II

You are useless,

O grave, O beautiful,

the landsmen tell it—I have heard—

you are useless.

And the wind sounds with this

and the sea

where rollers shot with blue

cut under deeper blue.

O but stay tender, enchanted

where wave-lengths cut you

apart from all the rest—

 Prev. P 8/64 next