The Crossing

Monsters merge and welter through the water's mounting Din. All hands, stand fast! A sailor sprints aloft, Hangs, swelling spider-like, among invisible nets, Surveys his slowly undulating snares, and waits. The wind! The ship's a steed that champs and shies, breaks loose, And lunges out upon the blizzard-white sea. It heaves Its neck; it plunges, trampling waves; it cleaves the clouds And scours the sky; it sweeps up winds beneath its wings. My spirit like the swaying mast, plays in the stormy sky, And like the swelling sails ahead, imagination fills, Till suddenly I too cry out with the madly shouting crew. With arms outspread I fall upon the plunging boards and feel It is my breast that gives the ship new burst of speed, And know, happy and light at last, what is a bird.