Night And Storm At Gloucester

I heard the wind last night that cried and wept Like some old skipper's ghost outside my door; And on the roof the rain that tramped and tore Like feet of seamen on a deck storm-swept. Against the pane the Night with shudderings crept, And crouched there wailing; moaning ever more Its tale of terror; of the wrath on shore, The rage at sea, bidding all wake who slept. And then I heard a voice as old as Time; The calling of the mother of the world, Ocean, who thundered on her granite crags, Foaming with fury, meditating crime. And then, far off, wild minute guns; and, hurled Through roaring surf, the rush of sails in rags.