Page:The cry for justice - an anthology of the literature of social protest. - (IA cryforjusticea00sinc).pdf/45

 "Up!" yelled the Bosun; "up and clear the wreck!" The Dauber followed where he led; below He caught one giddy glimpsing of the deck Filled with white water, as though heaped with snow. He saw the streamers of the rigging blow Straight out like pennons from the splintered mast, Then, all sense dimmed, all was an icy blast

Roaring from nether hell and filled with ice, Roaring and crashing on the jerking stage, An utter bridle given to utter vice, Limitless power mad with endless rage Withering the soul; a minute seemed an age. He clutched and hacked at ropes, at rags of sail, Thinking that comfort was a fairy-tale

Told long ago—long, long ago—long since Heard of in other lives—imagined, dreamed— There where the basest beggar was a prince. To him in torment where the tempest screamed, Comfort and warmth and ease no longer seemed Things that a man could know; soul, body, brain, Knew nothing but the wind, the cold, the pain.

Insouciance in Storm

(From "The Cry of Youth")

(A young American poet who has wandered over the world as sailor, harvest hand and tramp; born 1883)

Deep in an ore-boat's hold Where great-bulked boilers loom And yawning mouths of fire Irradiate the gloom,