Nor monk in black, nor Capuchin, Nor priest of any creed was seen. A sun-browned woman, old and tall, And still as any shadow is, Stole forth from out the mossy wall With massive keys to show me this: Came slowly forth, and following, Three birds--and all with drooping wing. Three mute brown babes of hers; and they-- O, they were beautiful as sleep, Or death, below the troubled deep. And on the pouting lips of these Red corals of the silent seas, Sweet birds, the everlasting seal Of silence that the God has set On this dead island, sits for aye. I would forget, yet not forget Their helpless eloquence. They creep Somehow into my heart, and keep One bleak, cold corner, jewel set. They steal my better self away To them, as little birds that day Stole fruits from out the cherry-trees. So helpless and so wholly still, So sad, so wrapt in mute surprise, That I did love, despite my will. One little maid of ten,--such eyes, So large and lonely, so divine,-- Such pouting lips, such peachy cheek,-- Did lift her perfect eyes to mine, Until our souls did touch and speak; Stood by me all that perfect day, Yet not one sweet word could she say. She turned her melancholy eyes So constant to my own, that I Forgot the going clouds, the sky, Found fellowship, took bread and wine, And so her little soul and mine Stood very near together there. And O, I found her very fair. Yet not one soft word could she say: What did she think of all that day? The sometime song of gondolier Is heard afar. The fishermen Betimes draw net by ruined shore, In full spring time when east winds fall; Then traders row with muffled oar, Tedesca or the turban'd Turk, The pirate, at some midnight work By watery wall,--but that is all. XL. Remote, around the lonesome ship, Old Morgan moved, but knew it not, For neither star nor moon fell down ... I trow that was a lonesome spot He found, where boat and ship did dip In sands like some half-sunken town, And all things rose bat-winged and brown. At last before the leader lay A form that in the night did seem A slain Goliath. As in a dream, He drew aside in his slow pace, And look'd. He saw a sable face, A friend that fell that very day, Thrown straight across his wearied way. He falter'd now. His iron heart, That never yet refused its part, Began to fail him; and his strength Shook at his knees, as shakes the wind A shatter'd ship. His scatter'd mind Ranged up and down the land. At length He turn'd, as ships turn, tempest toss'd, For now he knew that he was lost, And sought in vain the moon, the stars, In vain the battle-star of Mars.