And to the sea she saith: “O silver sea,
Fair art thou, but thou art not fair like me;
Open thy white-toothed dimpled mouths and try;
They laugh not the soft way I laugh at thee.”
And to the sun she saith: “O golden sun,
Fierce is thy burning till the day is done;
But thou shalt burn mere grass and leaves, while I
Shall burn the hearts of men up everyone.”
O fair and dreadful is the maid who dwells
Between the two seas at the Dardanelles:
As fair and dread as in the ancient years;
And still the world is fillèd with her spells,
O sons of men, that toil, and love with tears!
III.
THE CYPRESS.
O IVORY bird, that shakest thy wan plumes,
And dost forget the sweetness of thy throat
For a most strange and melancholy note—
That wilt forsake the summer and the blooms
And go to winter in a place remote!
The country where thou goest, Ivory bird!
It hath no pleasant nesting-place for thee;
There are no skies nor flowers fair to see,
Nor any shade at noon—as I have heard—
But the black shadow of the Cypress tree.
Cypress tree, it groweth on a mound;
And sickly are the flowers it hath of May,
Full of a false and subtle spell are they;
For whoso breathes the scent of them around,
He shall not see the happy Summer day.
In June, it bringeth forth, O Ivory bird!
A winter berry, bitter as the sea;
And whoso eateth of it, woe is he—
He shall fall pale, and sleep—as I have heard—
Long in the shadow of the Cypress tree.