‘My towers at last!’— What meant the word from what acknowledged circuit sprung and in the heart and on the tongue at sight of few familiar birds when seaward his last sail unfurled to leeward from the wheel once more bloomed the pale crags of haunted shore that once-more-visited notch of world: and straight he knew as known before the Logos in Leviathan’s roar he deepest sounding with his lead who all had fathomed all had said.
Much-loving hero—towers indeed were those that overhung your log with entries of typhoon and fog and thunderstone for Adam’s breed: man’s warm Sargasso Sea of faith dislimned in light by luck or fate you for mankind set sail by hate and weathered it, and with it death.
And now at world’s end coasting late in dolphined calms beyond the gate which Hercules flung down, you come to the grim rocks that nod you home.
Depth below depth this love of man: among unnumbered and unknown to mark and make his cryptic own one landfall of all time began: of all life’s hurts to treasure one and hug it to the wounded breast, in this to dedicate the rest, all injuries received or done.
Your towers again but towers now blest your haven in a shoreless west o mariner of the human soul who in the landmark notched the Pole and in the Item loved the Whole.
