Words for the Chisel (collection)/Storm Centre
Storm Centre
Past noon, past the strongHour for full song,—However late—Mere silence holds me. Here are metFurious winds and the greatQuiet is desperate.
Utterly still they stand locked.Once only the earth rockedWith the weakening of one.
This is battle, forehead-on.Barbarous singing follows whenOne triumphs. Now the centreTightens againCloses. None enter—
It is silent whereWrestles the air.