Loud raged the tumult: Ocean far and near <br />Seethed with wild anger, up the sloping sand <br />Driving the shreds of foam; while, half in fear, <br />We battled with the tempest, on the strand <br />Scarcely upheld; or, clinging arm to arm, <br />In wedge compact:--now would we venture brave <br />Into the trench of the retreating wave; <br />Now shoreward flee, with not all--feigned alarm. <br />A challenge did my gentle sister speak: <br />``Yon pebble fetch, 'mongst those that furthest roll, <br />Pierced on one face with an unsightly hole!'' <br />Beneath a crested wave, that curled to break, <br />I grasped the prize, not scathless; and since then <br />That stone hath held the stuff that feeds my truant pen.<br /><br />Henry Alford<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-lxxxv-on-my-stone-inkstand/
