A white mist drifts across the shrouds,
    A wild moon in this wintry sky
    Gleams like an angry lion’s eye
    Out of a mane of tawny clouds.

    The muffled steersman at the wheel
    Is but a shadow in the gloom; –
    And in the throbbing engine-room
    Leap the long rods of polished steel.

    The shattered storm has left its trace
    Upon this huge and heaving dome,
    For the thin threads of yellow foam
    Float on the waves like ravelled lace