At Sea.

As a brave man faces the foe,     Alone against hundreds, and sees Death grin in his teeth,     But, shutting his lips, fights on to the end     Without speech, without hope, without flinching,--     So, silently, grimly, the steamer     Lurches ahead through the night.     A beacon-light far off,     Twinkling across the waves like a star!     But no star in the dark overhead!     The splash of waters at the prow, and the evil light     Of the death-fires flitting like will-o'-the-wisps beneath! And beyond     Silence and night!     I sit by the taffrail,     Alone in the dark and the blown cold mist and the spray,     Feeling myself swept on irresistibly,     Sunk in the night and the sea, and made one with their footfall-less onrush,     Letting myself be borne like a spar adrift     Helplessly into the night.     Without fear, without wish,     Insensate save of a dull, crushed ache in my heart,     Careless whither the steamer is going,     Conscious only as in a dream of the wet and the dark     And of a form that looms and fades indistinctly     Everywhere out of the night.     O love, how came I here?     Shall I wake at thy side and smile at my dream?     The dream that grips me so hard that I cannot wake nor stir!     O love! O my own love, found but to be lost!     My soul sends over the waters a wild inarticulate cry,     Like a gull's scream heard in the night.     The mist creeps closer. The beacon     Vanishes astern. The sea's monotonous noises     Lapse through the drizzle with a listless, subsiding cadence.     And thou, O love, and the sea throb on in my brain together,     While the steamer plunges along,     Butting its way through the night.