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Patrolling Barnegat

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PATROLLING BARNEGAT.1

WILD, wild the storm, and the sea high running; Steady the roar of the gale, with incessant under-tone muttering; Shouts of demoniac laughter fitfully piercing and pealing; Waves, air, midnight, their savagest trinity lashing; Out in the shadows there, milk-white combs careering; On beachy slush and sand, spurts of snow fierce slanting— Where, through the murk, the easterly death-wind breasting, Through cutting swirl and spray, watchful and firm advancing (That in the distance! is that a wreck? is the red signal flaring?), Slush and sand of the beach, tireless till daylight wending, Steadily, slowly, through hoarse roar never remitting, Along the midnight edge, by those milk-white combs careering, A group of dim, weird forms, struggling, the night confronting, That savage trinity warily watching.

Notes

1. Reprinted in the American (May 1881) and Leaves of Grass (1881–82). [back]

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