And so, all the night tide I lay down by the side of my darling, my darling. my life and my bride, in the sepulcher there by the sea. In her tomb by the sounding sea.

But how can it be launched quickly on a stormy night at low tide when the sea has retreated down a steep bank of shingle and out across several kilometres of boggy sand?

For a small bay lies westward a little, where he who watches night after night may see a certain rare moth fluttering along the edge of the tide, just at the end of evening or the beginning of dawn.