The Departure

I             I sat beside the glassy evening sea,             One foot upon the thin horn of my lyre,             And all its strings of laughter and desire             Crushed in the rank wet grasses heedlessly;             Nor did my dull eyes care to question how             The boat close by had spread its saffron sails,             Nor what might mean the coffers and the bales,             And streaks of new wine on the gilded prow.             Neither was wonder in me when I saw             Fair women step therein, though they were fair             Even to adoration and to awe,             And in the gracious fillets of their hair             Were blossoms from a garden I had known,             Sweet mornings ere the apple buds were blown.             II             One gazed steadfast into the dying west             With lips apart to greet the evening star;             And one with eyes that caught the strife and jar             Of the sea's heart, followed the sunward breast             Of a lone gull; from a slow harp one drew             Blind music like a laugh or like a wail;             And in the uncertain shadow of the sail             One wove a crown of berries and of yew.             Yet even as I said with dull desire,             "All these were mine, and one was mine indeed,"             The smoky music burst into a fire,             And I was left alone in my great need,             One foot upon the thin horn of my lyre             And all its strings crushed in the dripping weed.