Storm-Racked

by Amy Lowell

Amy Lowell

How should I sing when buffeting salt waves

And stung with bitter surges, in whose might

I toss, a cockleshell? The dreadful night

Marshals its undefeated dark and raves

In brutal madness, reeling over graves

Of vanquished men, long-sunken out of sight,

Sent wailing down to glut the ghoulish sprite

Who haunts foul seaweed forests and their caves.

No parting cloud reveals a watery star,

My cries are washed away upon the wind,

My cramped and blistering hands can find no spar,

My eyes with hope o'erstrained, are growing blind.

But painted on the sky great visions burn,

My voice, oblation from a shattered urn!