I told her of the stag of memory; of th’earth; of private moments lived; of th’night.
With gracile step, agilic poise, ‘n purity he’d leapt from th’dark off to my right-side.
I see myself still strolling.
Lapped waves wash, broken-crested – I am young.
T’was o’er ‘n through this coastly scene we traced the tracks of mem’ry.