II.
Dead, she drifteth to his feet.
Close, her eyes keep secrets sweet.
Living, he had loved her well.
High as Heaven and deep as Hell.
Yet that voyage she stayeth not.
Wait you for her, Launcelot?
Oh! the river floweth fast.
Who is justified at last?
Locked her lips are. Hush! If she
Sayeth nothing, how should we?