In Long, Slow Silences Of Soul Poem by Philip Henry Savage

In long, slow silences of soul
Beneath the sunset on the sea
I think I hear the numbers roll
That tell my conquest over thee;

When thou art gentle and serene,
Thyself, forgotten all thy pride;
And I, myself as I have been,
A hero with his sword untried,

Able for mastery; and the game
Is offered and the action up;
And to my purpose true I claim
A hot draught from the stirrup-cup,

Then entertain thee. All my soul
Awakes upon the sunset sea
When high and clear the numbers roll
That tell my conquest over thee.