And softer than dewfall, and kindlier than starlight, and
⁠keener than wine,
Came round us the fragrance of waters, the life of the
⁠breath of the brine.
We saw not, we heard not, the face or the voice of the
⁠waters: we knew
By the darkling delight of the wind as the sense of the
⁠sea in it grew,
By the pulse of the darkness about us enkindled and
⁠quickened, that here,
Unseen and unheard of us, surely the goal we had faith
⁠in was near.
A silence diviner than music, a darkness diviner than light,
Fulfilled as from heaven with a measureless comfort the
⁠measure of night.

⁠But never a roof for shelter
⁠And never a sign for guide
⁠Rose doubtful or visible: only
⁠And hardly and gladly we heard