Not as prisoners entombed

Waxen haggard and wizen,

But consoled and illumed

In the depths of their prison

With delight of the light everlasting and vision of dawn on them risen,

From the banks and the beds

Of the waters divine

They lift up their heads

And the flowers of them shine

Through the splendour of darkness that clothes them of water that glimmers like wine.

Bright bank over bank

Making glorious the gloom,

Soft rank upon rank,

Strange bloom after bloom,

They kindle the liquid low twilight, the dusk of the dim sea's womb.

Through the subtle and tangible

Gloom without form,

Their branches, infrangible

Ever of storm

Spread softer their sprays than the shoots of the woodland when April is warm.

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