Page:Verses–Blanche·Baughan-1898.pdf/57

 Prowling ahead? Get on! you slink Too close. Now, were we near the brink Instead of safe inland. . . What! Hark! . . . One’s ear is dull’d by all this dark. . . . Can that be—surf? . . . . . . The night so black— The cliff-track for the homeward-track— Death in the dark, and no farewell— My God! . . . Look! look! the hideous spell Breaks! Ay, lad, bark and run! All’s past! Home and the lodestar face at last, The lifted lamp, the door held wide; “My dearest!” and the night’s outside!