William Plumer Fowler
Lashed by a northeast wind, the angry sea
Has welts of white where foaming breakers ride
Over broad ledges buried by the tide,
To spend on battered shores their energy;
And soon the rain comes — intermittently
At first, and then in torrents fast and wide —
And a gray fog shrouds sea and countryside
In robes of soft invisibility.
Grateful for stalwart walls and sheltering roof,
We listen to the pelting of the rain
Above the surf's deep-throated undertones;
And nightfall finds us fogbound and aloof
From all the world's intolerance and pain,
Here in the storm that grinds the shingle stones.
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