A Woman's Reliquary [by Edward Dowden] |
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| LXXXIV. | LXXXIV THE RAPIDS |
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 | A Woman's Reliquary |  |
LXXXIV
THE RAPIDS
Where most the rapids swirl'd I lay
Motionless in our frail canoe;
The Indian guide whose toil seem'd play,
Lithe oarsman at the prow, were you.
Motionless in our frail canoe;
The Indian guide whose toil seem'd play,
Lithe oarsman at the prow, were you.
Yet what a need of practised eye,
Of poise or turn of wrist what need,
To shoot secure through jeopardy
With such a breathless, quivering speed!
Of poise or turn of wrist what need,
To shoot secure through jeopardy
With such a breathless, quivering speed!
And ever while the oar you plied
I knew no thought of life or death,
Nor felt the snakelike waters glide,
But lived in some deep heaven of faith.
I knew no thought of life or death,
Nor felt the snakelike waters glide,
But lived in some deep heaven of faith.
| A Woman's Reliquary | |