O be swift— we have always known you wanted us… We fled inland with our flocks. we pastured them in hollows, cut off from the wind

The mysteries remain, I keep the same cycle of seed—time and of sun and rain; Demeter in the grass,

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

So you have swept me back, I who could have walked with the l… above the earth, I who could have slept among the l… at last;

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),

Whirl up, sea— whirl your pointed pines, splash your great pines on our rocks, hurl your green over us,

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,

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

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

Can we believe—by an effort comfort our hearts: it is not waste all this, not placed here in disgust, street after street,

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