Another crawled--too late--
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am glad the tide swept you out,O beloved,you of all this ghastly hostalone untouched,your white flesh covered with saltas with myrrh and burnt iris. We were hemmed in this place,so few of us, so few of us to fighttheir sure lances,the straight thrust--effortlesswith slight life of muscle and shoulder. So straight--only we were left,the four of us--somehow shut off. And the marsh dragged one back,and another perished under the cliff,and the tide swept you out. Your feet cut steel on the paths,I followed for the strengthof life and grasp.I have seen beautiful feetbut never beauty welded with strength.I marvelled at your height.
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