It was driven in Silence.
After several hours—the spell was still upon you—a
sharp turn brought you to the Banks of White River;
and there—under a Clump of the Sycamore, of the
Willow, in a deep, Shady Pool, an Eddy, undisturbed
by the current of the broad, shallow Stream—a
Batch of Boys, swimming, chattering, diving.
"Stop" you said to the driver; "Come here" you called to the Lads.
They came trooping, dripping, out of the Pool.
A change came over you; flinging off your coat,