Now she turned, reached a hand; then a tall gondolier That had leaned on his oar, like a long lifted spear, Shot sudden and swift and all silently And drew to her side as she turned from the tide. . . It was odd, such a thing, and I counted it queer That a princess like this, whether virgin or bride, Should abide thus apart, and should bathe in that sea; And I shook back my hair, and so unsatisfied. Then I fluttered the doves that were perched close about, As I strode up and down in dismay and in doubt. XI. Then she stood in the boat on the borders of night As a goddess might stand on that far wonder land Of eternal sweet life, which men have named Death. I turned to the sea and I caught at my breath, As she drew from the boat through her white baby hand Her vestment of purple imperial, and white. Then the gondola shot! swift, sharp from the shore. There was never the sound of a song or of oar But the doves hurried home in white clouds to Saint Mark, And the lion loomed high o’er the sea in the dark. XII. Then I cried, “Quick! Follow her. Follow her. Fast! Come! Thrice double fare if you follow her true To her own palace door.” There was plashing of oar And rattle of rowlock. . . . I sat leaning low Looking far in the dark, looking out as we sped With my soul all alert, bending down, leaning low. But only the oaths of the men as we passed When we jostled them sharp as we sudden shot thro’ The watery town. Then a deep, distant roar-- The rattle of rowlock, the rush of the oar. XIII. Then an oath. Then a prayer! Then a gust that made rents Through the yellow sailed fishers. Then suddenly Came sharp forked fire! Then far thunder fell Like the great first gun! Ah, then there was route Of ships like the breaking of regiments And shouts as if hurled from an upper hell. Then tempest! It lifted, it spun us about, Then shot us ahead through the hills of the sea As if a great arrow shot shoreward in wars-- Then heaven split open till we saw the blown stars. XIV. On! On! Through the foam, through the storm, through the town, She was gone. She was lost in the wilderness Of palaces lifting their marbles of snow. I stood in my gondola. Up and all down I pushed through the surge of the salt-flood street Above me, below. . . Twas only the beat Of the sea’s sad heart. . . Then I heard below The water-rat building, but nothing but that; Not even the sea bird screaming distress, As she lost her way in that wilderness. XV.