Waist-deep and careless in the cool green waves,
As Tethys once and Oceanus played
Upon the golden ramparts of the world:
Then would we rest, and muse upon the sands,
Heavy with dreams and touched with some sad peace
Born of our very weariness of joy,
While drooped the wind and all the sea grew still
And unremembered trailed the idle oar
And no leaf moved and hushed were all the birds
And on the dunes the thin green ripples lisped