Wind of the night, wind that has fallen silent, Wind from the dark beyond crying suddenly, eerily, What terrible news have you shrieked out there in the stillness? The night is cool and quiet and the wind has crept to sea. (4) THE WRECK _Grave: triste._ Its huge red prow Uplifted in a tragic attitude, It waits out there; the seas around Bubble and hiss with moaning sound: In sight of port at the gates of the sea, It waits upreared expectantly. It has known the joy of battle, It has known the shock of wreck: The spray coated its planking, The sands swallow its deck: Monument of the sea, That knows and that forgets eternally. It heaves its scarred brow towards the city: The city pays it little heed: Indifferent, brutal, without pity, Stern cargo-steamers trudge and speed; The sun glares on it and the gulls wheel and flash, The rain beats on its deck, the winds pass silently; It is out there alone with the immense sea: Alone with its forgotten tragedy. (5) TIDE OF STORMS _Allegro con fuoco._ Crooked, crawling tide with long wet fingers Clutching at the gritty beach in the roar and spurt of spray, Tide of gales, drunken tide, lava-burst of breakers, Black ships plunge upon you from sea to sea away. Shattering tide, tide of winds, tide of the long still winter, What matter though ships fail, men sink, there vanish glory? War-clouds shall hurl their stinging sleet upon our last adventure, Night-winds shall brokenly whisper our bitter, tragic story. PART IV. THE CALM _Largo._ In the morning I saw three great ships Almost motionless Becalmed on an infinite horizon. The clatter of waves up the beach, The grating rush of wet pebbles, The loud monotonous song of the surf, All these have soothed me And have given My soul to rest. At noon I shall see waves flashing, White power of spray. The steamers, stately, Kick up white puffs of spray behind them. The boiling wake Merges in the blue-black mirror of the sea. One eye of the sun sees all: The world, the wave, my heart. I am content. In the afternoon I shall dream a dream Of islands beyond the horizon. White clouds drift over the sky, Frigates on a long voyage. In the evening a mute blue stillness Clutches at my heart. Stars sparkle upon the tips of my fingers. Mystical hush, Fire in the darkness; The breaking of dreams. But in the morning I shall see three great Almost motionless Becalmed on an infinite horizon. THE END End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Irradiations; Sand and Spray, by John Gould Fletcher