straining balance. Everard lurched and seized
His wife and held her smothered to his coat. Everard, loose
me, we shall drown -- and squeezed
Against him, she beat with her hands. He gasped Never,
by God! The slidden boat gave way
And the black foamy water split -- and met. Bubbled
up through the spray
A wailing rose and in the branches rasped,
And creaked, and stilled. Over the treetops, clasped
In the blue evening, a clear moon was set.
LXII
They lie entangled in the twisting roots, Embraced
forever. Their cold marriage bed
Close-canopied and curtained by the shoots Of willows and pale
birches. At the head,
White lilies, like still swans, placidly float And sway above
the pebbles. Here are waves
Sun-smitten for a threaded counterpane Gold-woven
on their graves.
In perfect quietness they sleep, remote
In the green, rippled twilight. Death has smote
Them to perpetual oneness who were twain.
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