CAPE ANN, SEPTEMBER SURF. 1882. <br /> <br />White fire upon the gray-green waste of waves, <br />The low light of the breaker flares. Ah, see! <br />Outbursting on a sky of steel and ice, <br />The baffled sun stabs wildly at the gale. <br />The water rises like a god aglow, <br />Who all too long hath slept, and dreamed too sure, <br />And finds his goddess fled his empty arms. <br />Silent, the mighty cliff receives at last <br />That rage of elemental tenderness, <br />The old, omnipotent caress she knows. <br />Yet once the solid earth did melt for her <br />And, pitying, made retreat before her flight; <br />Would she have hidden her forever there? <br />Or did she, wavering, linger long enough <br />To let the accustomed torrent chase her down? <br />Over the neck of the gorge, <br />I cling. Lean desperately! <br />He who feared a chasm's edge <br />Were never the one to see <br />The torment and the triumph hid <br />Where the deep surges be. <br />I pierce the gulf; I sweep the coast <br />Where wide the tide swings free; <br />I search as never soul sought before. <br />There is not patience enough in all the shore, <br />There is not passion enough in all the sea, <br />To tell my love for thee.<br /><br />Elizabeth Stuart Phelps Ward<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/rafe-s-chasm/
