⁠Iphigeneia, when the ford
Fast-flowing of sorrows brought her father and their lord.

⁠He saw light glimmering through the grave green gloom
That hardly gave the sun's eye leave to see
⁠Cymodameia; but nor tower nor tomb,
No tower on earth, no tomb of waves may be,
⁠That may not sometime by diviner doom
Be plain and pervious to the poet; he
⁠Bids time stand back from him and fate make room
⁠For passage of his feet,
⁠Strong as their own are fleet,
⁠And yield the prey no years may reassume