The wind is rising on the sea, <br />The windy white foam-dancers leap; <br />And the sea moans uneasily, <br />And turns to sleep, and cannot sleep. <br /> <br />Ridge after rocky ridge uplifts, <br />Wild hands, and hammers at the land, <br />Scatters in liquid dust, and drifts <br />To death among the dusty sand. <br /> <br />On the horizon's nearing line, <br />Where the sky rests, a visible wall, <br />Grey in the offing, I divine, <br />The sails that fly before the squall.<br /><br />Arthur Symons<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/before-the-squall/
