By southern seas I have seen purple stones
Throw back the shadows of the waves and hills.
On the Ægean, so the stories run,
Greek youths, with many a saffron-coloured sail,
Rode flame-like to the rhythm of the gale.
Again, on the bright shores of this small lake,
Purple of hills and pink of northern rocks.
To-day I met a sail-boat in the wind
And at its mast a brown Canadian boy--
He was as splendid as his mate of Troy.
Three colts exercising in a six-acre,
A hilly sweep of unfenced grass over the road.
What a picture they make against the skyline!
Necks stretched, hocks moving royally, tails flying;
Farm-lads up, and they crouching low on their withers.
I have a journey to go--
A lawyer to see, and a paper to sign in the Tontine--
But I slacken my pace to watch them.
I understand what you were running for,
Slim naked boy, and why from far inland
You came between dark hills. I know the roar
The sea makes in some ears. I understand.
I understand why you were running now
And how you heard the sea resound, and how
You leaped and left your valley for the long
Brown road. I understand the song
You chanted with your running, with your feet
Marking the measure of your high heart's beat.
Now you are broken. Seeing your wide brow
I see your dreams. I understand you now.
Since I have run like you, I understand
The throat's long wish, the breath that comes so quick,
The heart's light leap, the heels that drag so sick,
And warped heat wrinkles, lengthening the sand. . . .
We were all boys, and three of us were friends;
And we were more than friends, it seemed to me: --
Yes, we were more than brothers then, we three. . . .
Brothers? . . . But we were boys, and there it ends.
His lips are open, since his mind
Delights in work his fingers find.
In that red arch I see a gate.
Where gracious Loves might pass in state.
Sure his white body were fit habitation
For a whole fairy population.