Page:The Poems of Henry Kendall (1920).djvu/154



ALL night long the sea out yonder—all night long the wailful sea,

Vext of winds and many thunders, seeketh rest unceasingly!

Seeketh rest in dens of tempest, where, like one distraught with pain,

Shouts the wild-eyed sprite, Confusion—seeketh rest, and moans in vain:

Ah! but you should hear it calling, calling when the haggard sky

Takes the darks and damps of Winter with the mournful marsh-fowl's cry;

Even while the strong, swift torrents from the rainy ridges come

Leaping down and breaking backwards—million-coloured shapes of foam!

Then, and then, the sea out yonder chiefly looketh for the boon

Portioned to the pleasant valleys and the grave sweet summer moon:

Boon of Peace, the still, the saintly spirit of the dew-dells deep—

Yellow dells and hollows haunted by the soft, dim dreams of sleep.