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1885–1940

III

DuBose Heyward

A sudden flood of moonlight drenched the sea, Pointing the scene in sharp, strong black and white. Sumter came shouldering through the night, Battered and grim.

The curve of ships shook off their dim Vague outlines of a dream; And stood, patient as death, So certain in their pride,

So satisfied To wait The slow inevitableness of Fate. Close, where the channel

Narrowed to the bay, The Housatonic lay Black on the moonlit tide, Her wide

High sweep of spars Flaunting their arrogance among the stars. Darkness again, Swift-winged and absolute,

Gulping the stars, Folding the ships and sea, Holding us waiting, mute. Then, slowly in the void,

There grew a certainty That silenced fear. The very air Was stirring to the march of Destiny.

One blinding second out of endless time Fell, sundering the night. I saw the Housatonic hurled, A ship of light,

Out of a molten sea, Hang an unending pulse-beat, Glowing, stark; While the hot clouds flung back a sullen roar.

Then all her pride, so confident and sure, Went reeling down the dark. Out of the blackness wave on livid wave Leapt into being — thundered to our feet;

Counting the moments for us, beat by beat, Until the last and smallest dwindled past, Trailing its pallor like a winding-sheet Over the last crew and its chosen grave.

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III · DuBose Heyward · Poetry Cove