Voyages VI

White Buildings

Where icy and bright dungeons liftOf swimmers their lost morning eyes,And ocean rivers, churning, shiftGreen borders under stranger skies,

Steadily as a shell secretesIts beating leagues of monotone,Or as many waters trough the sun’sRed kelson past the cape’s wet stone;

0 rivers mingling toward the skyAnd harbor of the phoenix’ breastMy eyes pressed black against the prow,-Thy derelict and blinded guest

Waiting, afire, what name, unspokenI cannot claim: let thy waves rearMore savage than the death of kings,Some splintered garland for the seer.

Beyond siroccos harvestingThe solstice thunders, crept away,Like a cliff swinging or a sailFlung into April’s inmost day-

Creation’s blithe and petalled wordTo the lounged goddess when she roseConceding dialogue with eyesThat smile unsearchable repose-

Still fervid covenant, Belle Isle,-Unfolded floating dais beforeWhich rainbows twine continual hairBelle Isle, white echo of the oar!

The imaged Word, it is, that holdsHushed willows anchored in its glow.It is the unbetrayable replyWhose accent no farewell can know.

from White Buildings (1926)