Then swallowing blackness of the night; and thin
The shrewd rain beat me and the rough limbs whipped
Of dwarfed, uneasy beeches. There within
Their savage circle battered tombstones tipped
Squat lengths to weeds the fighting winds had ripped
And chopped to tatters. And I heard before,
Rounding a headland, where the gaunt trees dripped,--
A shout borne deathward from night's ghastly shore,--
Hoarse as a thousand throats the river's sullen roar.