The Harvest Of The Sea
(On the sinking of the
by Charles Hanson Towne
The jealous Sea moaned in the April night:
'Lo! there are comrades hidden in my heart,
Unfortunates who sought me, sick of life.
But I am hungry for brave souls; I crave
Their warmth and passion through my chilling tides;
Their heads upon my bosom, and their hands,
Like children's hands, about me in the dark.
I need their blood in my cold loneliness.'
A Titan sailed her weary leagues of foam,
Unknowing her strange wish, her mad desire.
But there was menace in the starlit night,
And sudden doom upon deceiving paths,
And a wild horror on the mighty deep.
The grey Sea laughed--and drew those brave men down,
And braver women who but mocked at Death,
Seeing that Love went with them. These the souls
The awful Sea desired! These the hearts
She waited for in that studendous hour!
They were enough to warm the Arctic wastes,
To fill with furnace heat the frozen zones,
And fire the very Sea that was their grave,
But dream not, mighty Ocean, they are yours!
We have them still, those high and valient men
Who died that others might reach ports of peace.
Not in your jealous depths their spirits roam,
But though the world today, and up to heaven!