LOCH TORRIDON.
83
And softer than dewfall, and kindlier than starlight, and
keener than wine,
Came round us the fragrance of waters, the life of the
breath of the brine.
We saw not, we heard not, the face or the voice of the
waters: we knew
By the darkling delight of the wind as the sense of the
sea in it grew,
By the pulse of the darkness about us enkindled and
quickened, that here,
Unseen and unheard of us, surely the goal we had faith
in was near.
A silence diviner than music, a darkness diviner than light,
Fulfilled as from heaven with a measureless comfort the
measure of night.
But never a roof for shelter
And never a sign for guide
Rose doubtful or visible: only
And hardly and gladly we heard
