Page:The green helmet and other poems.pdf/13



I swayed upon the gaudy stern The butt end of a steering oar, And everywhere that I could turn Men ran upon the shore.

And though I would have hushed the crowd There was no mother's son but said, What is the figure in a shroud Upon a gaudy bed?"

And fishes bubbling to the brim Cried out upon that thing beneath, It had such dignity of limb, By the sweet name of Death.