High Stretched Upon The Swinging Yard, I Gather In The Sheet; But It Is Hard And Stiff, And One Cries Haste. Then He That Is Most Dear In My Regard Of All The Crew Gives Aidance Meet; But From His Hands, And From His Feet, A Glory Spreads Wherewith The Night Is Starred: Moreover Of A Cup Most Bitter-Sweet With Fragrance As Of Nard, And Myrrh, And Cassia Spiced, He Proffers Me To Taste. Then I To Him: 'Art Thou The Christ?' He Saith, 'Thou Say'St.' Like To An Ox That Staggers 'Neath The Mortal Blow, She Grinds Upon The Rocks: Then Straight And Low Leaps Forth The Levelled Line, And In Our Quarter Locks The Cradle'S Rigged; With Swerving Of The Blast We Go, Our Captain Last, Demands 'Who Fired That Shot?' Each Silent Stands, Ah, Sweet Perplexity! This Too Was He. I Have An Arbour Wherein Came A Toad Most Hideous To See, Immediate, Seizing Staff Or Goad, I Smote It Cruelly. Then All The Place With Subtle Radiance Glowed, I Looked, And It Was He!