On the Gulf of Night

The world’s sad petrels dwell for evermore On windy headland or on ocean floor, Or pierce the violent skies with perilous flights That fret men in their palaces o’ nights, Breaking enchanted slumber’s easeful boat, With shudderings of their wild and dolorous note; They blow about the black and barren skies, They fill the night with ineffectual cries.

There is for them not anything before, But sound of sea and sight of soundless shore, Save when the darkness glimmers with a ray, And Hope sings softly, Soon it will be day. Then for a golden space the shades are thinned, And dawn seems blowing seaward on the wind. But soon the dark comes wilder than before, And swift around them breaks a sullen roar; The tempest calls to windward and to lea, And—they are seabirds on the homeless sea.