Twigs of despair on the high trees uplifted,
Torn cloud flying behind;
Whistling wind through the dead leaves drifted;
Oho! my mind
With you is racked and ruined and rifted.
Waves of the angry firth high-flying,
Rainstorm striping the sea,
Sleet-mist shrouding the hills; day dying;
Now around me
Closes the darkness of night in, wild crying.
God of the storm, in thy storm's heart unmeted
My shallop-soul rideth where roars
The swirling water-spout--rides undefeated;
No rudder, no oars;
Only within, thy small image seated.