The Fog
Then a stillness fell on crag and cliff, on beach and breaker
fell, As the sea-breeze brought on its final whiff the note of a
distant bell, One faint, far sound, and the fog unwound its mantle across
the lea, Joined hand in hand with a wind from land, and the twain
went out to sea. And the wind that rose spoke soft, of those who watch on
the cliffs at dawn, And the fog's white lips, of sinking ships where the tortured
tempests spawn, As, each to each, they told once more such things as fishers
know, When the fog slinks down from Labrador, stealthy, sure,
and slow!
Oh, the wan, white hours go limping by, when that pall
comes in between The great, blue bell of the cloudless sky and the ocean's
romping green ! Nor sane young day, nor swirl of spray, as the cat's-paws
lunge and lift ;
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