Before the Squall
Arthur Symons
1865 to 1945
The wind is rising on the sea,
White flashes dance along the deep,
That moans as if uneasily
It turned in an unquiet sleep.
Ridge after rocky ridge upheaves
A toppling crest that falls in spray
Where the tormented beach receives
The buffets of the sea’s wild play.
On the horizon’s nearing line,
Where the sky rests, a visible wall.
Grey in the offing, I divine
The sails that fly before the squall.
Arthur Symons's Before the Squall
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