Driftwood
By Wilfrid Wilson Gibson
Black spars of driftwood burn to peacock flames,
Sea-emeralds and sea-purples and sea-blues,
And all the innumerable ever-changing hues
That haunt the changeless deeps but have no names,
Flicker and spire in our enchanted sight:
And as we gaze, the unsearchable mystery,
The unfathomed cold salt magic of the sea,
Shines clear before us in the quiet night.
We know the secret that Ulysses sought,
That moonstruck mariners since time began
Snatched at a drowning hazard - -strangely brought
To our homekeeping hearts in drifting spars
We chanced to kindle under the cold stars -
The secret in the ocean-heart of man.