Weird Tales/Volume 8/Issue 3/Elysium

Ashes of sky-flame glowing.
Thunder of tide on the bars,
Night, and a wild wind blowing
A curse to the screaming stars.

You, with the salt spray clinging
White in your dusky hair—
You and your wild heart singing
Pæans to the black-green flare.

Flicker of foam a-skirling,
Beat of the sudden rain.
Gashes of moonlight whirling
Rents in the murky stain.

Faces bared to the lashing
Sting of the wind-whipt brine;
Thrill of the white manes flashing,
Throb of your heart to mine.

Death at the helm a-grinning,
Night if the cold hand grips,
Life as the prize for winning—
Life, and the flame of your lips.