I

Are your rocks shelter for ships? Have you sent galleys from your beach-- Are you graded--a safe crescent, Where the tide lifts them back to port? Are you full and sweet, Tempting the quiet To depart in their trading ships?

Nay, you are great, fierce, evil-- You are the land-blight-- You have tempted men, But they perished on your cliffs.

Your lights are but dank shoals, Slate and pebbles and wet shells And sea-weed fastened to the rocks.

It was evil--evil When they found you-- When the quiet men looked at you. They sought a headland, Shaded with ledge of cliff From the wind-blast.

But you--you are unsheltered-- Cut with the weight of wind. You shudder when it strikes, Then lift, swelled with the blast. You sink as the tide sinks. You shrill under the hail, and sound Thunder when thunder sounds.

You are useless. When the tides swirl, Your boulders cut and wreck The staggering ships.