At Melville's Tomb

    Often beneath the wave， wide from this ledge

    The dice of drowned men's bones he saw bequeath

    An embassy.  Their numbers as he watched，

    Beat on the dusty shore and were obscured.

    And wrecks passed without sound of bells，

    The calyx of death's bounty giving back

    A scattered chapter， livid hieroglyph，

    The portent wound in corridors of shells.

    Then in the circuit calm of one vast coil，

    Its lashings charmed and malice reconciled，

    Frosted eyes there were that lifted altars；

    And silent answers crept across the stars.

    Compass， quadrant and sextant contrive

    No farther tides . . . High in the azure steeps

    Monody shall not wake the mariner.

    This fabulous shadow only the sea keeps.