High winds move my boat along
Through waves that hurl themselves aside;
No need to master wind and tide —
The weak is equal to the strong
And sails ahead through peak and trough,
Untroubled while the storm’s enough.
But let my boat be once becalmed,
And it sits adrift in breathless dread;
The sea — the glassy field ahead —
Swells to a deepening alarm,
And clearer as the skies stay clear
Are portents and a freshening fear.