Then inland just where the small meadow begins,
Well bulwarked with boulders that jut in the tide,
Lies safe beyond storm-beat the harbour in sun. 10
See where the black fishing-boats, each at its buoy,
Ride up on the swell with their dare-danger prows,
To sight o’er the sea-rim what venture may come!
And look, where the narrow white streets of the town
Leap up from the blue water’s edge to the wood, 15
Scant room for man’s range between mountain and sea,
And the market where woodsmen from over the hill
May traffic, and sailors from far foreign ports
With treasure brought in from the ends of the earth.
And see the third house on the left, with that gleam 20
Of red burnished copper—the hinge of the door
Whereat I shall enter, expected so oft
(Let love be your sea-star!), to voyage no more.
LIII
Art thou the top-most apple
The gatherers could not reach,
Reddening on the bough?
Shall not I take thee?
Art thou a hyacinth blossom 5
The shepherds upon the hills
Have trodden into the ground?
Shall not I lift thee?
Free is the young god Eros,
Paying no tribute to power, 10
Seeing no evil in beauty,
Full of compassion.
Once having found the beloved,
However sorry or woeful,
However scornful of loving, 15
Little it matters.