Breakers

Far out at sea there has been a storm,     And still, as they roll their liquid acres,     High-heaped the billows lower and glisten.     The air is laden, moist, and warm     With the dying tempest's breath;     And, as I walk the lonely strand     With sea-weed strewn, my forehead fanned     By wet salt-winds, I watch the breakers,     Furious sporting, tossed and tumbling,     Shatter here with a dreadful rumbling -     Watch, and muse, and vainly listen     To the inarticulate mumbling     Of the hoary-headed deep;     For who may tell me what it saith,     Muttering, moaning as in sleep?     Slowly and heavily     Comes in the sea,     With memories of storm o'erfreighted,     With heaving heart and breath abated,     Pregnant with some mysterious, endless sorrow,     And seamed with many a gaping, sighing furrow.     Slowly and heavily     Grows the green water-mound;     But drawing ever nigher,     Towering ever higher,     Swollen with an inward rage     Naught but ruin can assuage,     Swift, now, without sound,     Creeps stealthily     Up to the shore -     Creeps, creeps and undulates;     As one dissimulates     Till, swayed by hateful frenzy,     Through passion grown immense, he     Bursts forth hostilely;     And rising, a smooth billow -     Its swelling, sunlit dome     Thinned to a tumid ledge     With keen, curved edge     Like the scornful curl     Of lips that snarl -     O'ertops itself and breaks     Into a raving foam;     So springs upon the shore     With a hungry roar;     Its first fierce anger slakes     On the stony shallow;     And runs up on the land,     Licking the smooth, hard sand,     Relentless, cold, yet wroth;     And dies in savage froth.     Then with its backward swirl     The sands and the stones, how they whirl!     O, fiercely doth it draw     Them to its chasm'd maw,     And against it in vain     They linger and strain;     And as they slip away     Into the seething gray     Fill all the thunderous air     With the horror of their despair,     And their wild terror wreak     In one hoarse, wailing shriek.     But scarce is this done,     When another one     Falls like the bolt from a bellowing gun,     And sucks away the shore     As that did before:     And another shall smother it o'er.     Then there's a lull - a half-hush;     And forward the little waves rush,     Toppling and hurrying,     Each other worrying,     And in their haste     Run to waste.     Yet again is heard the trample     Of the surges high and ample:     Their dreadful meeting -     The wild and sudden breaking -     The dinting, and battering, and beating,     And swift forsaking.     And ever they burst and boom,     A numberless host;     Like heralds of doom     To the trembling coast;     And ever the tangled spray     Is tossed from the fierce affray,     And, as with spectral arms     That taunt and beckon and mock,     And scatter vague alarms,     Clasps and unclasps the rock;     Listlessly over it wanders;     Moodily, madly maunders,     And hissingly falls     From the glistening walls.     So all day along the shore     Shout the breakers, green and hoar,     Weaving out their weird tune;     Till at night the full moon     Weds the dark with that ring     Of gold that you see her fling     On the misty air.     Then homeward slow returning     To slumbers deep I fare,     Filled with an infinite yearning,     With thoughts that rise and fall     To the sound of the sea's hollow call,     Breathed now from white-lit waves that reach     Cold fingers o'er the damp, dark beach,     To scatter a spray on my dreams;     Till the slow and measured rote     Brings a drowsy ease     To my spirit, and seems     To set it soothingly afloat     On broad and buoyant seas     Of endless rest, lulled by the dirge     Of the melancholy surge.