Page:A treasury of war poetry, British and American poems of the world war, 1914-1919.djvu/385

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Beyond the uttermost

Of aught the night may hear on any seas

From tempest-known wild water's cry, and roar

Of iron shadows looming from the shore,

It shall be heard—and when the Orcades

Sleep in a hushed Atlantic's starry folds

As smoothly as, far down below the tides,

Sleep on the windless broad sea-wolds

Where this night's shipwreck hides.

By many a sea-holm where the shock

Of ocean's battle falls, and into spray

Gives up its ghosts of strife; by reef and rock

Ravaged by their eternal brute affray

With monstrous frenzies of their shore's green foe;

Where overstream and overfall and undertow

Strive, snatch away;

A wistful voice, without a sound,

Shall dwell beside Pomona, on the sea,

And speak the homeward and the outward-bound,

And touch the helm of passing minds

And bid them steer as wistfully—

Saying: "He did great work, until the winds

And waters hereabout that night betrayed

Him to the drifting death! His work went on—

He would not be gainsaid. . ..

Though where his bones are, no man knows, not one! John Helston

GRIM and iron-bastioned,

Tumultuous Orcades,

Of vast and awful maelstroms,

And eagle-taloned seas;—

Great is your cruel sovereignty,

But greater than all your might,

Was he, this strong world-captain,

Who entered your halls to-night.