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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The light passes from ridge to ridge, from flower to flower— the hepaticas, wide—spread under the light

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

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

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