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The Cup of Quietness

By Alfred Hayes

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18

A SOUTH-WESTER

All night the bold wind, drenched
With ocean's wine,
Earth's boisterous libertine,
Hath hustled the spent clouds and wrenched
The mountain pine.
The darkness gasps for breath,
The great trees fall,
Wildly the waters call
From drowning dales; he rioteth
More loud than all.
The day dawns savagely;
He doth not shun
To meet the indignant sun,
But laughs in heaven's white face to see
The havoc done.

19

He grasps the billow's mane;
The mad sea-horse
Bears him, without remorse,
In arctic slumber to regain
His squandered force.