The speaker stands on a shoreline during a violent winter storm. Clouds race across the sky, carrying the moon like a heavy sack of gold, while stars shoot between them like sharp arrows. The wind claws at the sand, tearing up sleet and flinging it inland. Leaning into the bitter blast, the speaker feels his body plunge like a ship as grey breakers rise with foam in their eyes. The gale turns into a wild, almost human force with green-grey eyes, whirling arms, clashing feet, and a bellowing voice as it rages through the village. The mood is fierce, exhilarating, and a little terrifying. The speaker seems both overpowered and strangely released—his heart is blown out toward the stars, as if the storm strips away ordinary self and leaves only raw sensation and awe.
The Gale — Summary
Pale green-white, in a gallop across the sky, The clouds retreating from a perilous affray Carry the moon with them, a heavy sack of gold; Sharp arrows, stars between them shoot and play.
The wind, as it strikes the sand, Clutches with rigid hands And tears from them Thin ribbons of pallid sleet, Long stinging hissing drift, Which it trails up inland.
I lean against the bitter wind: My body plunges like a ship. Out there I see grey breakers rise, Their ravelled beards are white, And foam is in their eyes. My heart is blown from me to-night To be transfixed by all the stars.
Steadily the wind Rages up the shore: In the trees it roars and battles, With rattling drums And heavy spears, Towards the housefronts on it comes.
The village, a loose mass outflung, Breaks its path. Between the walls It bounces, tosses in its wrath. It is broken, it is lost.
With green-grey eyes, With whirling arms, With clashing feet, With bellowing lungs, Pale green-white in a gallop across the sky, The wind comes.
The great gale of the winter flings himself flat upon earth.
He hurriedly scribbles on the sand His transient tragic destiny.