WHEN descends¹ on the Atlantic

    The gigantic

    Storm-wind of the equinox

    Landward in his wrath² he scourges³

    The toiling⁴ surges

    Laden⁵ with seaweed from the rocks：

    From Bermuda's reefs； from edges

    Of sunken ledges⁶

    In some far-off bright Azore；

    From Bahama and the dashing

    Silver-flashing

    Surges of San Salvador；

    From the tumbling surf that buries

    The Orkneyan skerries

    Answering the hoarse⁷ Hebrides；

    And from wrecks⁹ of ships and drifting

    Spars uplifting

    On the desolate¹⁰ rainy seas；—

    Ever drifting drifting drifting

    On the shifting

    Currents of the restless main；

    Till in sheltered coves¹¹ and reaches

    Of sandy beaches

    All have found repose¹² again.

    So when storms of wild emotion

    Strike the ocean

    Of the poet's soul erelong

    From each cave and rocky fastness

    In its vastness

    Floats some fragment of a song：

    From the far-off isles¹³ enchanted¹⁴

    Heaven has planted

    With the golden fruit of Truth；

    From the flashing surf whose vision

    Gleams Elysian

    In the tropic clime of Youth；

    From the strong Will and the Endeavor

    That forever

    Wrestle¹⁵ with the tides of Fate；

    From the wreck⁸ of Hopes far-scattered

    Tempest-shattered

    Floating waste and desolate；—

    Ever drifting drifting drifting

    On the shifting

    Currents of the restless heart；

    Till at length in books recorded

    They like hoarded¹⁶

    Household words no more depart.

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