And then he saw the mast, the small snow hurled,
The fore-topgallant yard far, far aloft,
And blankness settling on him and great pain;
And snow beneath his fingers wet and soft,
And topsail sheet-blocks shaking at the chain.
He knew it was he who had fallen; then his brain
Swirled in a circle while he watched the sky.
Infinite multitudes of snow blew by.
"I thought it was Tom who fell," his brain's voice said.
"Down on the bloody deck!" the Captain screamed.