No one knows those islands,-- The gulls that fly May go near, but others Would surely die.
For the wind-scourged water Would flee the ships, And the mud would open Her soft smooth lips.
So the isles are sacred From alien tread, Since the slime can swallow And keep her dead.
Who can know her secrets? The blue sky might-- (Cloudless-hot in daytime, Star-gemmed at night).
To and fro for ever The water swings, And the gulls fly over, For _they_ have wings.
They’re burning off at the Rampadells, The tawny flames uprise With greedy licking around the trees: The hot breath sears our eyes
From cores already grown furnace-hot; The logs are well alight; We fling more wood where the flameless heart Is throbbing red and white.
The fire bites deep in that beating heart, The creamy smoke-wreaths ooze From cracks and knot-holes along the trunk To melt in greys and blues.
The young horned moon has gone from the sky, And night has settled down; A red glare shows from the Rampadells, Grim as a burning town.
Full seven fathoms above the rest A tree stands, great and old, A red-hot column whence fly the sparks, One ceaseless shower of gold.
All hail the king of the fire before He sway and crack and crash To earth!--for surely to-morrow’s sun Will see him fine white ash.
The king in his robe of falling stars No trace shall leave behind, And where he stood with his silent court The wheat shall bow to the wind.
The almond bloom is overpast, the apple blossoms blow. I never loved but one man, and I never told him so.
My flowers will never come to fruit, but I have kept my pride-- A little, cold, and lonely thing, and I have naught beside.
The spring-wind caught my flowering dreams, they lightly blew away. I never had but one true love, and he died yesterday.
Dive in from the sunlight smiting like a falchion Underneath the awnings to the sudden shade, Saunter through the packed lane Many-voiced, colourful, Rippling with the currents of the south and eastern trade.
Here are Persian carpets, ivory, and peachbloom, Tints to fill the heart of any child of man; Here are copper rose-bowls, Leopard-skins, emeralds, Scarlet slippers curly-toed and beads from Kordofan.
Water-sellers pass with brazen saucers tinkling, Hajjis in the doorways tell their amber beads; Buy a lump of turquoise, A scimitar, a neckerchief Worked with rose and saffron for a lovely lady’s needs?