Poem by Edwin John Dove Pratt

The Fog

It stole in on us like a foot-pad,
Somewhere out of the sea and air,
Heavy with rifling Polaris
And the Seven Stars.
It left our eyes untouched,
But took our sight,
And then,
Silently,
It drew the song from our throats,
And the supple bend from our ash-blades;
For the bandit,
With occult fingering,
Had tangled up
The four threads of the compass,
And fouled the snarl around our dory.

1. The Ground-Swell
2. Dawn!
3. The Morning Plunge
4. The Drowning
5. Ode to December, 1917

Lola Ridge The Fog ("Out of the lamp-bestarred and clouded dusk")

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