H. D.

IThe hard sand breaks,And the grains of itAre clear as wine.Far off over the leagues of it,The wind,Playing on the wide shore,Piles little ridges,And the great wavesBreak over it.But more than the many-foamed waysOf the sea,I know himOf the triple path-ways.Hermes,Who awaiteth.Dubious,Facing three ways,Welcoming wayfarers,He whom the sea-orchardShelters from the west,From the eastWeathers sea-wind;Fronts the great dunes.Wind rushesOver the dunes,And the coarse, salt-crusted grassAnswers.Heu,It whips round my ankles!IISmall isThis white stream,Flowing below groundFrom the poplar-shaded hill,But the water is sweet.Apples on the small treesAre hard,Too small,Too late ripenedBy a desperate sunThat struggles through sea-mist.The boughs of the treesAre twistedBy many bafflings;Twisted areThe small-leafed boughs.But the shadow of themIs not the shadow of the mast headNor of the torn sails.Hermes, Hermes,The great sea foamed,Gnashed its teeth about me;But you have waited,Where sea-grass tangles withShore-grass.

The hard sand breaks,And the grains of itAre clear as wine.

The hard sand breaks,

And the grains of it

Are clear as wine.

Far off over the leagues of it,The wind,Playing on the wide shore,Piles little ridges,And the great wavesBreak over it.

Far off over the leagues of it,

The wind,

Playing on the wide shore,

Piles little ridges,

And the great waves

Break over it.

But more than the many-foamed waysOf the sea,I know himOf the triple path-ways.Hermes,Who awaiteth.

But more than the many-foamed ways

Of the sea,

I know him

Of the triple path-ways.

Hermes,

Who awaiteth.

Dubious,Facing three ways,Welcoming wayfarers,He whom the sea-orchardShelters from the west,From the eastWeathers sea-wind;Fronts the great dunes.

Dubious,

Facing three ways,

Welcoming wayfarers,

He whom the sea-orchard

Shelters from the west,

From the east

Weathers sea-wind;

Fronts the great dunes.

Wind rushesOver the dunes,And the coarse, salt-crusted grassAnswers.

Wind rushes

Over the dunes,

And the coarse, salt-crusted grass

Answers.

Heu,It whips round my ankles!

Heu,

It whips round my ankles!

Small isThis white stream,Flowing below groundFrom the poplar-shaded hill,But the water is sweet.

Small is

This white stream,

Flowing below ground

From the poplar-shaded hill,

But the water is sweet.

Apples on the small treesAre hard,Too small,Too late ripenedBy a desperate sunThat struggles through sea-mist.The boughs of the treesAre twistedBy many bafflings;Twisted areThe small-leafed boughs.

Apples on the small trees

Are hard,

Too small,

Too late ripened

By a desperate sun

That struggles through sea-mist.

The boughs of the trees

Are twisted

By many bafflings;

Twisted are

The small-leafed boughs.

But the shadow of themIs not the shadow of the mast headNor of the torn sails.

But the shadow of them

Is not the shadow of the mast head

Nor of the torn sails.

Hermes, Hermes,The great sea foamed,Gnashed its teeth about me;But you have waited,Where sea-grass tangles withShore-grass.

Hermes, Hermes,

The great sea foamed,

Gnashed its teeth about me;

But you have waited,

Where sea-grass tangles with

Shore-grass.

Keeper of Orchards

I saw the first pearAs it fell.The honey-seeking, golden-banded,The yellow swarmWas not more fleet than I,(Spare us from loveliness!)And I fell prostrate,Crying,“Thou hast flayed us with thy blossoms;Spare us the beautyOf fruit-trees!”The honey-seekingPaused not,The air thundered their song,And I alone was prostrate.O rough-hewnGod of the orchard,I bring thee an offering;Do thou, alone unbeautiful(Son of the god),Spare us from loveliness.The fallen hazel-nuts,Stripped late of their green sheaths,The grapes, red-purple,Their berriesDripping with wine,Pomegranates already broken,And shrunken figs,And quinces untouched,I bring thee as offering.

I saw the first pear

As it fell.

The honey-seeking, golden-banded,

The yellow swarm

Was not more fleet than I,

(Spare us from loveliness!)

And I fell prostrate,

Crying,

“Thou hast flayed us with thy blossoms;

Spare us the beauty

Of fruit-trees!”

The honey-seekingPaused not,The air thundered their song,And I alone was prostrate.

The honey-seeking

Paused not,

The air thundered their song,

And I alone was prostrate.

O rough-hewnGod of the orchard,I bring thee an offering;Do thou, alone unbeautiful(Son of the god),Spare us from loveliness.

O rough-hewn

God of the orchard,

I bring thee an offering;

Do thou, alone unbeautiful

(Son of the god),

Spare us from loveliness.

The fallen hazel-nuts,Stripped late of their green sheaths,The grapes, red-purple,Their berriesDripping with wine,Pomegranates already broken,And shrunken figs,And quinces untouched,I bring thee as offering.

The fallen hazel-nuts,

Stripped late of their green sheaths,

The grapes, red-purple,

Their berries

Dripping with wine,

Pomegranates already broken,

And shrunken figs,

And quinces untouched,

I bring thee as offering.

Are you alive?I touch you—You quiver like a sea-fish.I cover you with my net.What are you, banded one?

Are you alive?

I touch you—

You quiver like a sea-fish.

I cover you with my net.

What are you, banded one?

Whirl up, sea—Whirl your pointed pines.Splash your great pinesOn our rocks.Hurl your green over us—Cover us with your pools of fir.

Whirl up, sea—

Whirl your pointed pines.

Splash your great pines

On our rocks.

Hurl your green over us—

Cover us with your pools of fir.

IYou are clear,O rose, cut in rock.I could scrape the colorFrom the petals,Like spilt dye from a rock.If I could break youI could break a tree.If I could stirI could break a tree,I could break you.IIO wind, rend open the heat,Cut apart the heat,Slit it to tatters.Fruit cannot dropThrough this thick air;Fruit cannot fall into heatThat presses up and bluntsThe points of pears,And rounds grapes.Cut the heat:Plough through it,Turning it on either sideOf your path.

You are clear,O rose, cut in rock.I could scrape the colorFrom the petals,Like spilt dye from a rock.

You are clear,

O rose, cut in rock.

I could scrape the color

From the petals,

Like spilt dye from a rock.

If I could break youI could break a tree.

If I could break you

I could break a tree.

If I could stirI could break a tree,I could break you.

If I could stir

I could break a tree,

I could break you.

O wind, rend open the heat,Cut apart the heat,Slit it to tatters.

O wind, rend open the heat,

Cut apart the heat,

Slit it to tatters.

Fruit cannot dropThrough this thick air;Fruit cannot fall into heatThat presses up and bluntsThe points of pears,And rounds grapes.

Fruit cannot drop

Through this thick air;

Fruit cannot fall into heat

That presses up and blunts

The points of pears,

And rounds grapes.

Cut the heat:Plough through it,Turning it on either sideOf your path.

Cut the heat:

Plough through it,

Turning it on either side

Of your path.

Will you glimmer on the sea?Will you fling your spear-headOn the shore?What note shall we pitch?We have a song,On the bank we share our arrows—The loosed string tells our note:O flight,Bring her swiftly to our song.She is great,We measure her by the pine-trees.

Will you glimmer on the sea?Will you fling your spear-headOn the shore?What note shall we pitch?We have a song,On the bank we share our arrows—The loosed string tells our note:

Will you glimmer on the sea?

Will you fling your spear-head

On the shore?

What note shall we pitch?

We have a song,

On the bank we share our arrows—

The loosed string tells our note:

O flight,Bring her swiftly to our song.She is great,We measure her by the pine-trees.

O flight,

Bring her swiftly to our song.

She is great,

We measure her by the pine-trees.

“She watches over the sea”

IAre your rocks shelter for ships?—Have you sent galleys from your beach,Are you graded—a safe crescent—Where the tide lifts them back to port?Are you full and sweet,Tempting the quietTo depart in their trading ships?Nay, you are great, fierce, evil—You are the land-blight.You have tempted menBut they perished on your cliffs.Your lights are but dank shoals,Slate and pebble and wet shellsAnd sea-weed fastened to the rocks.It was evil—evilWhen they found you,When the quiet men looked at you.They sought a headlandShaded with ledge of cliffFrom the wind-blast.But you—you are unsheltered,Cut with the weight of wind.You shudder when it strikes,Then lift, swelled with the blast.You sink as the tide sinks,You shrill under hail and sound,Thunder when thunder sounds.You are useless:When the tides swirlYour boulders cut and wreckThe staggering ships.IIYou are useless,O grave, O beautiful.The landsmen tell it—I have heard—You are useless.And the wind sounds with thisAnd the seaWhere rollers shot with blueCut under deeper blue.Oh, but stay tender, enchantedWhere wave-lengths cut youApart from all the rest—For we have found you,We watch the splendor of you,We thread throat on throat of freesiaFor your shelf.You are not forgot,O plunder of lilies,Honey is not more sweetThan the salt stretch of your beach.IIIStay—stay—But terror has caught us now.We passed the men in ships,We dared deeper than the fisher-folk;And you strike us with terror,O bright shaft.Flame passes under usAnd sparks that unknot the flesh—Sorrow, splitting bone from bone,Splendors thwart our eyesAnd rifts in the splendor,Sparks and scattered light.Many warned of this,Men said:“There are wrecks on the fore-beach,Wind will beat your ship,There is no shelter in that headland;It is useless waste, that edge,That front of rock—Sea-gulls clang beyond the breakers,None venture to that spot.”IVBut hail—As the tide slackens,As the wind beats out,We hail this shore—We sing to you,Spirit between the headlandsAnd the further rocks.Though oak-beams split,Though boats and sea-men flounder,And the strait grind sand with sandAnd cut boulders to sand and drift—Your eyes have pardoned our faults,Your hands have touched us;You have leaned forward a littleAnd the waves can never thrust us backFrom the splendor of your ragged coast.

Are your rocks shelter for ships?—Have you sent galleys from your beach,Are you graded—a safe crescent—Where the tide lifts them back to port?Are you full and sweet,Tempting the quietTo depart in their trading ships?

Are your rocks shelter for ships?—

Have you sent galleys from your beach,

Are you graded—a safe crescent—

Where the tide lifts them back to port?

Are you full and sweet,

Tempting the quiet

To depart in their trading ships?

Nay, you are great, fierce, evil—You are the land-blight.You have tempted menBut they perished on your cliffs.

Nay, you are great, fierce, evil—

You are the land-blight.

You have tempted men

But they perished on your cliffs.

Your lights are but dank shoals,Slate and pebble and wet shellsAnd sea-weed fastened to the rocks.

Your lights are but dank shoals,

Slate and pebble and wet shells

And sea-weed fastened to the rocks.

It was evil—evilWhen they found you,When the quiet men looked at you.They sought a headlandShaded with ledge of cliffFrom the wind-blast.But you—you are unsheltered,Cut with the weight of wind.You shudder when it strikes,Then lift, swelled with the blast.You sink as the tide sinks,You shrill under hail and sound,Thunder when thunder sounds.

It was evil—evil

When they found you,

When the quiet men looked at you.

They sought a headland

Shaded with ledge of cliff

From the wind-blast.

But you—you are unsheltered,

Cut with the weight of wind.

You shudder when it strikes,

Then lift, swelled with the blast.

You sink as the tide sinks,

You shrill under hail and sound,

Thunder when thunder sounds.

You are useless:When the tides swirlYour boulders cut and wreckThe staggering ships.

You are useless:

When the tides swirl

Your boulders cut and wreck

The staggering ships.

You are useless,O grave, O beautiful.The landsmen tell it—I have heard—You are useless.

You are useless,

O grave, O beautiful.

The landsmen tell it—I have heard—

You are useless.

And the wind sounds with thisAnd the seaWhere rollers shot with blueCut under deeper blue.

And the wind sounds with this

And the sea

Where rollers shot with blue

Cut under deeper blue.

Oh, but stay tender, enchantedWhere wave-lengths cut youApart from all the rest—For we have found you,We watch the splendor of you,We thread throat on throat of freesiaFor your shelf.

Oh, but stay tender, enchanted

Where wave-lengths cut you

Apart from all the rest—

For we have found you,

We watch the splendor of you,

We thread throat on throat of freesia

For your shelf.

You are not forgot,O plunder of lilies,Honey is not more sweetThan the salt stretch of your beach.

You are not forgot,

O plunder of lilies,

Honey is not more sweet

Than the salt stretch of your beach.

III

Stay—stay—But terror has caught us now.We passed the men in ships,We dared deeper than the fisher-folk;And you strike us with terror,O bright shaft.

Stay—stay—

But terror has caught us now.

We passed the men in ships,

We dared deeper than the fisher-folk;

And you strike us with terror,

O bright shaft.

Flame passes under usAnd sparks that unknot the flesh—Sorrow, splitting bone from bone,Splendors thwart our eyesAnd rifts in the splendor,Sparks and scattered light.

Flame passes under us

And sparks that unknot the flesh—

Sorrow, splitting bone from bone,

Splendors thwart our eyes

And rifts in the splendor,

Sparks and scattered light.

Many warned of this,Men said:“There are wrecks on the fore-beach,Wind will beat your ship,There is no shelter in that headland;It is useless waste, that edge,That front of rock—Sea-gulls clang beyond the breakers,None venture to that spot.”

Many warned of this,

Men said:

“There are wrecks on the fore-beach,

Wind will beat your ship,

There is no shelter in that headland;

It is useless waste, that edge,

That front of rock—

Sea-gulls clang beyond the breakers,

None venture to that spot.”

But hail—As the tide slackens,As the wind beats out,We hail this shore—We sing to you,Spirit between the headlandsAnd the further rocks.Though oak-beams split,Though boats and sea-men flounder,And the strait grind sand with sandAnd cut boulders to sand and drift—

But hail—

As the tide slackens,

As the wind beats out,

We hail this shore—

We sing to you,

Spirit between the headlands

And the further rocks.

Though oak-beams split,

Though boats and sea-men flounder,

And the strait grind sand with sand

And cut boulders to sand and drift—

Your eyes have pardoned our faults,Your hands have touched us;You have leaned forward a littleAnd the waves can never thrust us backFrom the splendor of your ragged coast.

Your eyes have pardoned our faults,

Your hands have touched us;

You have leaned forward a little

And the waves can never thrust us back

From the splendor of your ragged coast.

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