Patroling Barnegat

Wild, wild the storm, and the sea high running, / Steady the roar of the gale, with incessant undertone muttering, / Shouts of demoniac laughter fitfully piercing and pealing, / Waves, air, midnight, their savagest trinity lashing, / Out in the shadows there milk-white combs careering, / On beachy slush and sand spirts of snow fierce slanting, / Where through the murk the easterly death-wind breasting, / Through cutting swirl and spray watchful and firm advancing, / (That in the distance! is that a wreck? is the red signal flaring?) / Slush and sand of the beach tireless till daylight wending, / Steadily, slowly, through hoarse roar never remitting, / Along the midnight edge by those milk-white combs careering, / A group of dim, weird forms, struggling, the night confronting, / That savage trinity warily watching.