The Tempest

The sail is torn, the rudder bursts, the waters roar,

All people yell, the pumps release a baleful wail,

The ropes yanked out of deckhands’ palms: we’ve lost the sail!

Lo! Sun in blood-shade setting, hope there is no more.

The gale in triumph howls, and on the sodden hills

That rise above the chaos of the fatal sea,

A genius of death ascended, and now he

Assails the fortress long destroyed and further kills.

Some on the deck lie dying, drowning in despair;

Some fall in neighbor’s arms and sadly say good bye;

Some pray to drive the death away, some pray to die.

One passenger sat calmly in a corner there,

And thought: Oh happy he who’s swooned amid this hell,

Or prays or knows a man to say the last farewell!