DRAWING too quietly, the woven nets of sleep

Had borne me far and far from shores of day

Unwitting, till over the grey surge of a ship less deep

A reef-girt island lifted plumes of spray.

Born from the womb of trance, my shadowy feet alight

Beneath pale dunes that drift within a dream :

And Silence was taking shape in a robe of drowsy white,

And level brows beneath the dark hair gleam.