THE sea was wild. The wind was proud. He shook my curtains like a shroud. He was a wet and worthy wind: His hair with wild sea-crystals twined: His cloak with wild sea-grasses green; His slanted wings all gray and lean: And strange and swift, and fierce and free He cried, "Come out! and race with me!" I snatched my mantle wide and red, And far along the cliffs I fled. The cliff-grass bowed itself in fear, The gulls forgot what path to steer; Below the cliffs the broad waves broke In trampled ranks like fighting folk; The ships with grisly sea-wrack blind, Dead-drunken, cursed that chasing wind. My lips with salt were wild to taste. I leapt: I shouted and made haste: Along the cliffs, above the sea, With mad red mantle waving free, And hair that whipped the eyes of me. And there was no one else but he, That great grim wind who called to me. Oh, we ran far! Oh, we ran free! |