His eyes, as if he pray’d,
Were cast beneath long eyelids, wan and spare.
Rock’d by the roaring flood,
He seem’d to speak as in debate with doom,
Uplooking, while the flood
Bore him with thunder to the ocean foam.
God’s face, a luminous cloud,
Look’d thro’ the midnight, black, and horrible gloom.
Bangalore, 1890-3.