‘I shall not think of it again,’
He said, but took with him the pain
Starting for a distant goal:
Years after, in another land,
He took my hand,
And said, ‘I think of that deed still,
Though on this further side the hill.’
I made this image of his soul.

Along a wave-lashed darkling strand
I saw a naked creature run,
And like himself another one,
Alike in shape, alike in size,
But darker and with fierier eyes,
Ran with him just one step behind,
With equal speed against the wind,
Filling his footprints on the sand
Of that restless ever-sounding sea:
And there, alas, they still may be.