30 APRIL 1954, Page 11


We made no promises; and so have none to break; We heard the whispering of the tide, yet feared to speak Lest words, like common streetlamps, should reveal too late A gutter, not an ocean, at our feet.

And so we let the silence like a smoky moon Glimmer between us faintly; hoping to discern More clearly in the shadows of the curtained room The glint of what our lips would not affirm.

Into conjectured depths we dipped our senses; dipped Like unbelieving fishers, and would not accept Our catch as real; I saw only the dim scales spill Over your forehead where the h0f-light fell,