by Theodore Roethke

    1

    Against the stone breakwater，

    Only an ominous¹ lapping，

    While the wind whines³ overhead，

    Coming down from the mountain，

    Whistling between the arbors， the winding⁴ terraces；

    A thin whine² of wires， a rattling⁵ and flapping of leaves，

    And the small street-lamp swinging and slamming against

    the lamp pole.

    Where have the people gone？

    There is one light on the mountain.

    2

    Along the sea-wall， a steady sloshing of the swell⁶，

    The waves not yet high， but even，

    Coming closer and closer upon each other；

    A fine fume⁷ of rain driving in from the sea，

    Riddling⁸ the sand， like a wide spray of buckshot，

    The wind from the sea and the wind from the mountain contending，

    Flicking⁹ the foam¹⁰ from the whitecaps straight upward into the darkness.

    A time to go home！——

    And a child's dirty shift billows upward out of an alley¹¹，

    A cat runs from the wind as we do，

    Between the whitening trees， up Santa Lucia，

    Where the heavy door unlocks，

    And our breath comes more easy，——

    Then a crack of thunder， and the black rain runs over us， over

    The flat-roofed houses， coming down in gusts¹²， beating

    The walls， the slatted windows， driving

    The last watcher indoors， moving the cardplayers closer

    To their cards， their anisette.

    3

    We creep to our bed， and its straw mattress¹³.

    We wait； we listen.

    The storm lulls¹⁴ off， then redoubles，

    Bending the trees half-way down to the ground，

    Shaking loose the last wizened¹⁵ oranges in the orchard¹⁶，

    Flattening¹⁷ the limber carnations¹⁸.

    A spider eases himself down from a swaying light-bulb，

    Running over the coverlet， down under the iron bedstead.

    The bulb goes on and off， weakly.

    Water roars into the cistern¹⁹.

    We lie closer on the gritty pillow，

    Breathing heavily， hoping——

    For the great last leap of the wave over the breakwater，

    The flat boom on the beach of the towering sea-swell，

    The sudden shudder²⁰ as the jutting²¹ sea-cliff collapses²²，

    And the hurricane drives the dead straw into the living pine-tree.

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