The plunging silence engulfed us. We heard, as if we had died,
The throb of the engine’s heart erase our tiptoeing words,
And the slow mysterious mouth of the water against the side.
If you dripped your fingers awave, wet star-dust clung to the skin,
Spangling the wax-cool hand with the pollen and seeds of dawn,
And the wake, like a fish of fire, went twisting alive within
The willow-dark cage of green, and in splinters of foam was gone.
Then we saw the cloudy old house, and the waters deep at its stair,
Bright in an endless flood, irradiate, calm and wise,
Like the milk-white body of Truth asleep in her naked hair,