Classic Poem

Two were at the oars and two,
Trailing hands, lolled in the bow
When the boat stole into sight
Round Emmanuel Head just now.

The sky was one fierce flame of sun,
The sea, a burnished glassy lake:
No creak or plash of oars was there:
The cleaving keel left no white wake.

I blinked a moment, my hot eyes
Bedazzled by the blinding light:
And when I looked about again
The silent boat had sunk from sight.

Then fearfully my heart recalled
How those most dear of all to me—
The four in that phantasmal boat—
Yet sojourned by another sea.