Scarce the cliffs of the islets, scarce the walls of Joyous Gard,
⁠Flash to sight between the deadlier lightnings of the sea:
Storm is lord and master of a midnight evil-starred,
⁠Nor may sight or fear discern what evil stars may be.
Dark as death and white as snow the sea-swell scowls and shines,
⁠Heaves and yearns and pants for prey, from ravening lip to lip,
Strong in rage of rapturous anguish, lines on hurtling lines,
⁠Ranks on charging ranks, that break and rend the battling ship.
All the night is mad and murderous: who shall front the night?
⁠Not the prow that labours, helpless as a storm-blown leaf,
Where the rocks and waters, darkling depth and beetling height,