Page:Reuben and other poems.pdf/64

 . . . The bitter cold was all—then breath Again, and something cross’d My clutching fingers; with a spar Now was I driven and toss’d.

Where were the rest? My strain’d ear caught No answer. . . . Dazed and stark, Moments it may have been, or hours, Dash’d thro’ the roaring dark.

I thought that I must have traversed Time And touch’d Eternity, When, high in the air, a cry, a wail: “I am afraid! Save me!”

And yonder!—O what’s that blacker black Bulged out upon the gloom? By the glint of the whirling spray I saw Her lifted stern-post loom.

“Save me!” O what’s yon whiter speck O’er the yeasty glimmer wild? Terribly flash’d the hasty moon On—the face of a little child!