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

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

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

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

Bear me to Dictaeus, and to the steep slopes; to the river Erymanthus. I choose spray of dittany, cyperum, frail of flower,

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;

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

White, O white face— from disenchanted days wither alike dark rose and fiery bays: no gift within our hands,

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

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