Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, COMING HOME, by ELIZABETH SEWELL HILL


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

COMING HOME, by                    
First Line: They have hauled in the gang-plank. The breast-line crawls back
Last Line: Flutter out the white signals that I'm coming home.
Subject(s): Homecoming


They have hauled in the gang-plank. The breast-line crawls back.
It is "Port, and hard over!" and out through the black
Of the storm and the night, and across to the mouth
Of the harbor, where stretching far out to the south,
Run the lights of the town.

Swinging slowly we turn,
Pointing out for mid-lake, past the long pier where burn
The red harbor-lights, where the great billows churn
Blow on blow on the spiles, spilling down the white foam—
But I've written the home-folks that I'm coming home.

And I'm coming; huddled close by the slow-falling rail,
Blinking red through the mist and the spray, while the hail
Rattles down the wet decks lifting high, with the wail
Up the wind of the fog-horn and behind on our trail,
And we nose straight out in the teeth of the gale,
I know by the throb that the engines prevail,
And—steady, my courage—unless the stars fail,
We'll make it.

But tell me, O gray eyes and blue,
Did you know in your watching, O dim eyes and true,
In that black night's wild fury while the storm-signals flew,
While the storm beat us back and the hoarse whistles blew—
Did you know, O my dear ones, I was coming to you?

The silence of midnight; the hiss of the swell;
The creaking of timbers; the close cabin smell;
The slow-swaying shadows; the jar of the screw;
The wind at the shutter; the feet of the crew;
The cry of a child—is he coming home too?

There's a rent in the night and a star glimmers through.
The skies clear above us; the west banks up brown;
The wind dies across us; the sea's running down;
And across the dim water, still breaking in foam,
Stretches out the far shore-line—and I'm coming home.

The hills smile a welcome; the long night is past;
And the ship's turning into the harbor at last.
The engines slow down; we steal through the slip,
Past the low burning lamp and with quivering lip
Call down to the life-savers cheering us on.

The weary throb sends us straight into the dawn,
Fair and white up the bay, half asleep, all adream,
In its translucent purple and pearl. Just a gleam
Out there of the earliest sail; here the curl
Of the first lazy smoke from a cabin—a girl
Loops up the long vines at the doorway. A swirl
Of white water behind us; then a stir at the dock.
Steam slowly! The head-line—the stern-line—the shock
As we swing alongside, and across the plank flock
Wan faces, with breath still a-quiver, the roar
Of the night still above and about them, the floor
Still uncertain; but over the grateful brown loam
We crowd to the shore-boat—and I'm coming home.

And away to the north over depths of cool green
From the bluffs overhead, where the deep-set ravine
Digs down to the heart of the wood, while a stream
Trickles out over sands drifting white, and the pier
Reaches out through the water to meet us. We're here!

From the pier to the boat-house and away down the shore
Flutters back to the group at the old farm-house door
The word that I'm coming. And from wrinkled old hands,
As the dear old feet toil through the weary white sands,
Bringing welcome and welcome, from boat-house and strand,

The hurrying, white-winged signals all come—
God pity the mortal who has never come home!

And I? I'm not worth it. But gray eyes and blue,
While the storms beat about me, O dear hearts and true,
Or the fogs flinging far, blot the stars from the blue,
If the pole star leads on or the rudder swings true,
It's not Heaven I'm after, I am coming to you.

But Heaven it will be when down the blue dome
Flutter out the white signals that I'm coming home.





Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!


Other Poems of Interest...
Home: PoetryExplorer.net