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1878–1952

IX

Alfred Browning Stanley Tennyson

All night the moon peered wan and pale Thro’ rifts in a scudding storm-rent veil O'er a moving mountainous waste. All night did the climbers rear and roar

And fall with a crash upon the shore, League on league of them coming in haste Till they broke and leapt no more, Leaping and shouting until they broke

Upon the screaming shore. And the simple hardy fisherfolk Kept watch and slept no more, As the wicked wind raved down the street

With gouts of foam and slings of sleet And battered at every door. All night the tiles like chips of straw Were borne, and the air was filled with the roar

Of the monstrous symphony. But its music lulled as the morning came And touched the East with a rosy flame, And whitened a hard clear sky,

And the tide drew out far far to the sea Which shouted less tumultuously, Tho’ its voices were heard for a sign, As it beat upon the barrier rocks

With the baffled rage of the Equinox In a spouting misty line.

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IX · Alfred Browning Stanley Tennyson · Poetry Cove