| |
| —The world is wasted with fire and sword | |
| But the apples of gold hang over the sea.— | |
| |
| When the wounded seaman heard the ocean daughters | |
| With their dreamy call | |
| Lull the stormy demon of the waters, | 5 |
| He remembered all. | |
| |
| He remembered knowing of an island charted, | |
| “Past a flying fire,” | |
| Where a fruit was growing, winey-hearted, | |
| Called “the mind’s desire.” | 10 |
| |
| Near him broke the stealing rollers into jewels | |
| Round a tree, and there | |
| Sorrow’s end and healing, peace, renewals | |
| Ripened in the air. | |
| |
| So he knew he’d found it and he watched the glory | 15 |
| Burning on the tree | |
| With the dancers round it—like the story— | |
| In the swinging sea. | |
| |
| Lovely round the honey-colored fruit, the motion | |
| Made a leafy stir. | 20 |
| Songs were in that sunny tree of ocean | |
| Where the apples were. | |
| |
| First the ocean sung them, then the daughters after, | |
| Dancing to the word. | |
| Beauty danced among them with low laughter | 25 |
| And the harp was heard. | |
| |
| In that sea’s immeasurable music sounded | |
| Songs of peace, and still | |
| From the bough the treasure hung down rounded | |
| To the seaman’s will. | 30 |
| |
| Redder than the jewel-seeded beach and sharper | |
| Were the wounds he bore, | |
| Hearing, past the cruel dark, a harper | |
| Lulling on the shore. | |
| |
| Long he watched the wonders, ringed with lovely perils, | 35 |
| Watched the apples gleam | |
| In the sleepy thunders on the beryls, | |
| Then he breathed his dream: | |
| |
| “Bloody lands and flaming seas and cloudy slaughter, | |
| Hateful fogs unfurled, | 40 |
| Steely horror, shaming sky and water, | |
| These have wreathed the world. | |
| |
| “Give me fruit for freighting, till my anchor grapples | |
| Home beyond the vast. | |
| Earth shall end her hating through the apples | 45 |
| And be healed at last.” | |
| |
| Then the sea-girls, lifting up their lovely voices | |
| With the secret word, | |
| Sang it through the drifting ocean noises | |
| And the sailor heard; | 50 |
| |
| Ocean-old the answers reached his failing sinew, | |
| Touched, unveiled his eyes; | |
| Beach and bough and dancers are within you, | |
| There the island lies. | |
| |
| “Though the heavens harden, though the thunders hover, | 55 |
| Though our song be mute, | |
| Burning in our garden for the lover | |
| Still unfolds the fruit.” | |
| |
| Outward from that shore the happy sailor, turning, | |
| Passed the fleets of sleep, | 60 |
| Passed his pain and bore the secret, burning, | |
Homeward to the deep.
The Nation | |
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