A Midnight Vision

A grey peak, naked as some sharp-edged cloud,
Splintering the smooth breast of a placid sky,
Rough to the hand, it charms the tired eye;
Small tufts of sea-pink round its basement crowd,
A tide beneath, that mounts and tumbles by
In monstrous wrinkles, each ten cubits high.
Around a ship-less, sail-less wilderness,
On high, with arms outstretched as in distress,
Cutting the lone grey sky, one broken cross--

--Say, long since seen, long-vanished sign of grace,
Man’s needs, man’s sorrows, why from thy dim height
Thy most austere, remote, abiding place,
Steal’st thou, grey ghost, to visit me to-night?