The Conservative (Lovecraft)/July 1918/On Shore

by Winifred Virginia Jackson

On Shore

By Winifred Virginia Jordan

The trees are wailing,
And grim night—a grayling
Swoops hawk-like down on
The gale-gall’d day.

The sea, ’neath thunder
And wolf-winds’ plunder,
On wreck-wound shore whacks
The writhing spray.

And Oh, my soul’s nearest,
My heart’s own dearest,
Is out there tonight in
A water-logg’d shell!

I can but be praying,
’Neath wind and sea’s flaying,
And shut from my ears
The Pollock’s Rip bell!

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