HIS DREAM
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swayed upon the gaudy sternThe butt end of a steering oar,And everywhere that I could turnMen ran upon the shore. And though I would have hushed the crowdThere was no mother's son but said,'What is the figure in a shroudUpon a gaudy bed?' And fishes bubbling to the brimCried out upon that thing beneath,--It had such dignity of limb--By the sweet name of Death. Though I'd my finger on my lip,What could I but take up the song?And fish and crowd and gaudy shipCried out the whole night long, Crying amid the glittering sea,Naming it with ecstatic breath,Because it had such dignityBy the sweet name of Death.
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