Know, Noelle, this nothing that round Us wends is not the nothing That follows when we descend Into each others' eyes. There We re-meet, there forget The ruddy ruts that shaped our feet. There our eyes are shiny rings Of tambourines, shaking as we sing. In the guttering firelight On the blackened beach, we sing; We sing the shining sea, the river's ring: Just there, just out of reach. "O salt and blood, o half-hewn thing, Propound, propound these nothings that we sing!"