⁠Nearer, laughing dumb and grim across the loud live storm?
Not in human heart or hand or speech of human breath,
⁠Surely, nor in saviours found of mortal face or form.
Yet below the light, between the reefs, a skiff shot out
⁠Seems a sea-bird fain to breast and brave the strait fierce pass
Whence the channelled roar of waters driven in raging rout,
⁠Pent and pressed and maddened, speaks their monstrous might and mass.
Thunder heaves and howls about them, lightning leaps and flashes,
⁠Hard at hand, not high in heaven, but close between the walls
Heaped and hollowed of the storms of old, whence reels and crashes
⁠All the rage of all the unbaffled wave that breaks and falls