From The Shore

A lone gray bird, Dim-dipping, far-flying, Alone in the shadows and grandeurs and tumults Of night and the sea And the stars and storms. Out over the darkness it wavers and hovers, Out into the gloom it swings and batters, Out into the wind and the rain and the vast, Out into the pit of a great black world, Where fogs are at battle, sky-driven, sea-blown, Love of mist and rapture of flight, Glories of chance and hazards of death On its eager and palpitant wings. Out into the deep of the great dark world, Beyond the long borders where foam and drift Of the sundering waves are lost and gone On the tides that plunge and rear and crumble.