Sonnets from the Crimea/Baydary
Give wings unto the storm, and spurs to steed,
I'd move unchained as wind across the world,
Sweep onward like a torrent mountain-hurled,
Nor sea, nor height, nor valley pause to heed.
The twilight spreads a dimness o'er our speed,
And shows the diamond-stars from hoofs up-whirled,
Since daylight now her curtained blue has furled,
And mystery and magic shadows breed.
The earth sleeps, but not I—not I—not I—
Who hasten to the shore where waves are loud
And toward me in the darkness whitely crowd.
Beneath them I would still my soul's deep cry—
Like ships the whirlpools seize to drag to death—
I'd plunge within the silence, sans thought, breath.