Silver dust lifted from the earth, higher than my arms reach, you have mounted. O silver,

Each of us like you has died once, has passed through drift of wood—l… cracked and bent and tortured and unbent

Over and back, the long waves crawl and track the sand with foam; night darkens, and the sea takes on that desperate tone

YOU are as gold as the half—ripe grain that merges to gold again, as white as the white rain that beats through

Thou art come at length More beautiful Than any cool god In a chamber under Lycia’s far coast,

Where the slow river meets the tide, a red swan lifts red wings and darker beak, and underneath the purple down

From citron—bower be her bed, cut from branch of tree a—flower, fashioned for her maidenhead. From Lydian apples, sweet of hue, cut the width of board and lathe,

Weed, moss—weed, root tangled in sand, sea—iris, brittle flower, one petal like a shell is broken,

Will you glimmer on the sea? Will you fling your spear—head On the shore? What note shall we pitch? We have a song,

I should have thought in a dream you would have brought some lovely, perilous thing, orchids piled in a great sheath, as who would say (in a dream),

I saw the first pear as it fell— the honey—seeking, golden—banded, the yellow swarm was not more fleet than I,

Amber husk fluted with gold, fruit on the sand marked with a rich grain, treasure