for we have found you,

we watch the splendour of you,

we thread throat on throat of freesia

for your shelf.

You are not forgot,

O plunder of lilies,

honey is not more sweet

than the salt stretch of your beach.

III

Stay—stay—

but terror has caught us now,

we passed the men in ships,

we dared deeper than the fisher-folk

and you strike us with terror

O bright shaft.

[6]

Flame passes under us

and sparks that unknot the flesh,

sorrow, splitting bone from bone,

splendour athwart our eyes

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