Gulls

When the mist drives past and the wind blows high,      And the harbour lights are dim -     See where they circle, and dip and fly,     The grey free-lances of wind and sky,      To the water's distant rim!     Like spirits possessed of a fierce delight,      A courage that cannot fail,     They face the breakers - they face the night -     The mad storm-horses are silvery white,      They ride through the bitter gale!     They seem like the souls of the long, long lost,      Who breasted the ocean-main -     Vikings whose vessels were tempest-tossed,     Voyagers who sailed, whatever the cost,      And never came home again.     Or stranger and wilder fancy - it seems      As I hear their wind-torn cry,     No birds fly there through the sun's last gleams,     But the wraiths of hopes - the ghosts of dreams      That the old sea-gods saw die.     When the mist drives past and the wind blows high,      And the harbour lights are dim -     See where they circle, and dip and fly,     The grey free-lances of wind and sky,      To the far horizon's rim.