The wind shall be thy changeful loom,
Thy web the twisting sand.

Twine from this hour, in ceaseless toil,
On Blackrock's sullen shore:
Till cordage of the sand shall coil
Where crested surges roar.

'Tis for that hour, when from the wave
Near voices wildly cried;
When thy stern hand no succour gave,
The cable at thy side.

Twist thou and twine! In light and gloom
The spell is on thine hand;
The wind shall be thy changeful loom,
Thy web the shifting sand.


SEA-GHOSTS: MAY BYRON

O' stormy nights, be they summer or winter,
Hurricane nights like these,
When spar and topsail are rag and splinter
Hurled o'er the sluicing seas,

To the jagged edge where the cliffs lean over,
Climb as you best may climb;
Lie there and listen where mysteries hover,
Haunting the tides of Time.