名人诗歌|Hatteras Calling

Southeast， and storm， and every weathervane

shivers and moans upon its dripping pin，

ragged^{1 on chimneys the cloud whips， the rain}

howls at the flues and windows to get in，

the golden rooster claps his golden wings

and from the Baptist Chapel^{2 shrieks4 no more，}

the golden arrow into the southeast sings

and hears on the roof the Atlantic Ocean roar.

Waves among wires， sea scudding^{5 over poles，}

down every alley^{6 the magnificence of rain，}

dead gutters^{7 live once more， the deep manholes}

hollo in triumph a passage to the main.

Umbrellas， and in the Gardens one old man

hurries away along a dancing path，

listens to music on a watering-can，

observes among the tulips the sudden wrath^8，

pale willows^{9 thrashing to the needled lake，}

and dinghies filled with water； while the sky

smashes the lilacs， swoops^{10 to shake and break，}

till shattered branches shriek^{3 and railings cry.}

Speak， Hatteras， your language of the sea：

scour^{11 with kelp and spindrift the stale street：}

that man in terror may learn once more to be

child of that hour when rock and ocean meet.