Our Savior, by a Hair
A second more, had dropped too deep
For Fisherman to plumb
The very profile of the Thought
Puts Recollection numb
The possibility—to pass
Without a Moment's Bell
Into Conjecture's presence
Is like a Face of Steel
That suddenly looks into ours
With a metallic grin
The Cordiality of Death
Who drills his Welcome in
The drilling of an epitaph on a gravestone is implied here.
That after Horror—that twas us