Serenely burnished where the stream grows deep
They smoothened their staccato lullaby.
And so she fell asleep
"Where no sharp rock disturbs the river bed,
A moving peace, whose eddies turn half-fain
Towards their youth's tumultuous watershed,
And slow blank scutcheons widen like a stain
Portending Sound is dead.
"No herd or village fouls the shining tide,
Till ocean lays a suzerain's armistice