One summer evening (led by her) I found
A little boat tied to a willow tree
It was an act of stealth
And troubled pleasure
Small circles glittering idly in the moon,
Until they melted all into one track
Of sparkling light
lustily
I dipped my oars into the silent lake,
my boat
Went heaving through the water like a swan;
a huge peak, black and huge,
As if with voluntary power instinct,
Upreared its head.
I struck and struck again,
And growing still in stature the grim shape
With trembling oars I turned,
And through the silent water stole my way
Back to the covert of the willow tree;
o’er my thoughts
There hung a darkness
No familiar shapes
Remained
no pleasant images of trees,