The Weather Wight
The way was long, the hill was steep,
My footing scarcely I could keep.
The night enshrouded me in gloom,
I heard the ocean's distant boom
The trampling of the surges vast
Was borne upon the rising blast.
'God help the mariner,' I cried,
'Whose ship to-morrow braves the tide!'
Then from the impenetrable dark
A solemn voice made this remark:
'For this locality-warm, bright;
Barometer unchanged; breeze light.'
'Unseen consoler-man,' I cried,
'Whoe'er you are, where'er abide,
'Thanks-but my care is somewhat less
For Jack's, than for my own, distress.
'Could I but find a friendly roof,
Small odds what weather were aloof.
'For he whose comfort is secure
Another's woes can well endure.'
'The latch-string's out,' the voice replied,
'And so's the door-jes' step inside.'
Then through the darkness I discerned
A hovel, into which I turned.
Groping about beneath its thatch,
I struck my head and then a match.
A candle by that gleam betrayed
Soon lent paraffinaceous aid.
A pallid, bald and thin old man
I saw, who this complaint began:
'Through summer suns and winter snows
I sets observin' of my toes.
'I rambles with increasin' pain
The path of duty, but in vain.
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poem by Ambrose Bierce
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