The Passing of the Storm, and Other PoemsKing, Alfred Castner
General
The Passing of the Storm, and Other Poems
King, Alfred Castner
Poetry
Erratic as the vacillating wind,
Are the mysterious wanderings of the mind.
When reason lays her golden veil aside,
What vagaries and aberrations glide
Through the disordered precincts of the brain!
What phantoms rise and disappear again!
What curious blendings of reality
And fact, with wildest flights of phantasy!
The flickerings of reason's feeble light
And relaxation into mental night,
Seem as a beacon on some rock-bound coast,
Which flutters, wanes and disappears almost,
Then with a flash illuminates the shore,
Gleams for a moment and is seen no more;
Or on some starless midnight, when the storm
Dissolves in chaos each familiar form,
And robes the landscape in cimmerian pall,
The lightnings play,--then darkness covers all.
Unlocked by fever and delirium,
The cautious tongue becomes no longer dumb,
And with the nervous tension overwrought,
Oft gives expression to the secret thought.
'Twas thus the junior of the rescued men,
A modern Hercules, both fair and young,
With accent truly cosmopolitan,
Raved both in English and some unknown tongue.
His accents wild and unintelligible,
Devoid of meaning, on his hearers fell,
With the exception of the practised ear
Of Russian Pete, who stood beside him there,
And seemed from his expression to detect
Some most familiar tongue or dialect.
When reason, with a penetrating gleam,
Burst through the canopy of mental gloom,
As one awakening from a hideous dream,
He started up and stared about the room,
Until he chanced to catch the kindly eyes
Of Russian Pete, which kindled with surprise.
A look of mutual recognition passed
Between the men, so strangely joined at last.
All that the congregated miners heard
Was one, presumably a Russian word,
And Russian Pete, with joy-illumined face,
Held his lost brother in his kind embrace.
* * * * *
* * * * *
Dazed by exhaustion, comatose and deep,
The two survivors, while the tempest roared,
Were through the gentle ministry of sleep
To normal strength unconsciously restored.
[Illustration:
"We grew as two twin pines might grow,
Upon the isolated edge,
Of some lone precipice or ledge."
_See page 57._]
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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