My songs seem now one humming note afar: Light as ether, quivering 'twixt star and star, But yet, so still I know not whence they come, if mine they are. Yet that low note Increases in force as if it said, "I will": Kindled by God's fierce breath, it would the whole world fill. Till steadily outwards thrown, By trumpets blazoned, from the sky downblown, It grows a vast march, massive, monotonous, known Of old gold trumpeteers Through infinite years: Bursting the white, thronged vaults of the cool sky. Till hurtling down there falls one mad black hammer-blow: Then the chained echoes in their maniac woe Are loosed against the silence, to shriek uncannily. The strings shiver faintly, poet: Strike the strings, Speed the song: Tremulous upward rush of wheeling, whirling wings. EPILOGUE The barking of little dogs in the night is more remembered than the shining of the stars: Only those who watch for long may see the moon rise: And they are mad ever after and go with blind eyes Nosing hungrily in the gutter for the scraps that men throw to the dogs; Few heed their babblings. SAND AND SPRAY A SEA-SYMPHONY PART I. THE GALE _Allegro furioso._ Pale green-white, in a gallop across the sky, The clouds retreating from a perilous affray Carry the moon with them, a heavy sack of gold; Sharp arrows, stars between them shoot and play. The wind, as it strikes the sand, Clutches with rigid hands And tears from them Thin ribbons of pallid sleet, Long stinging hissing drift, Which it trails up inland. I lean against the bitter wind: My body plunges like a ship. Out there I see grey breakers rise, Their ravelled beards are white, And foam is in their eyes. My heart is blown from me to-night To be transfixed by all the stars. Steadily the wind Rages up the shore: In the trees it roars and battles, With rattling drums And heavy spears, Towards the housefronts on it comes. The village, a loose mass outflung, Breaks its path. Between the walls It bounces, tosses in its wrath. It is broken, it is lost. With green-grey eyes, With whirling arms, With clashing feet, With bellowing lungs, Pale green-white in a gallop across the sky, The wind comes. The great gale of the winter flings himself flat upon earth. He hurriedly scribbles on the sand His transient tragic destiny. PART II. VARIATIONS (1) SAILBOATS _Scherzando._