The waters lap by the pier's green side From the rippled bay; Great hausers creak in the lifting tide, Getting under weigh. The shouts come quick and the last trucks slide Down the slippery way, Thro' the heaped-up gangway spreading wide. In the twilight grey The rudder swings as the lines creep home, And the old boat turns, Heading out for the mouth with its glimpse of foam Where the great lamp burns. The storm flag flies at the channel's end In the leaden sky; The storm light's creviced warning spends As the colors die; The lamp's red gleams at the pier's far end On the ripples lie; The spans leap far in their backward trend To the white sand's cry. @3"Coming!" "Coming!" "Coming!"@1 The hoarse call wends Where the hills fling high. @3"Salute!" "We Salute!" "You!"@1 The siren sends So, going by. And in or out, or force or fend, The orders lie, Or far or near, or risks attend, Or signals fly. @3"Coming!" "Coming!" "Coming!"@1 Where the courses bend Rounding handily, Heading into the north at the outer bar, Lying grim beneath, Settling into the course with a muffled jar— The bone in her teeth. The dimming moon and the fading star Touch the white foam-wreath. The lamp swims fainter. The hills loam far In ghostly sheath. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN WALKED BUD WITH A PALETTE by CLARENCE MAJOR PENITENTIAL PSALM: 143. DOMINE EXAUDI by THOMAS WYATT REMEMBRANCE by JOHN HENRY BONER THE EVE OF BUNKER HILL [JUNE 16, 1775] by CLINTON SCOLLARD VERSES FOR CHILDREN: CHRISTMAS TREE by ZEDA K. AILES THE FLIGHT OF THE GODDESS by CELIA THAXTER |