Poetry Archives

His weight upon the gunwale tipped the boat
 To straining balance.  Everard lurched and seized
His wife and held her smothered to his coat.
 “Everard, loose me, we shall drown—” and squeezed
Against him, she beat with her hands.  He gasped
 “Never, by God!”  The slidden boat gave way
    And the black foamy water split—and met.
 Bubbled up through the spray
A wailing rose and in the branches rasped,
And creaked, and stilled.  Over the treetops, clasped
    In the blue evening, a clear moon was set.