Wind from the Sea
1Weary is the flesh, alas! with many books the eyes are dim.
2Flight! I feel that birds are wild to sweep the far-off skies, and skim
3The unknown foam! For nought on land shall now the gypsy heart be stayed.
4Not ancient gardens mirrored back by limpid eyes, since it doth wade
5Into the sea-borne flood. O nights! not the clear lamplight's lonely tryst,
6Nor white allure of sheets unscrawled, nor yet the suckling infant kist
7By the young wife. I must away! The steamer rocks her ropes and spars!
8O haul the heavy anchor up and set all sail for tropic stars!
9Now weariness at last outworn by ruthless hope's unsparing whip
10Still strains toward white handkerchiefs that wave their farewells from the ship.
11Nay, but these masts that brave the storm, may they not bend above the foam
12Like wind-broke spars on derelicts that mastless drift far, far from home
13Or happy haven-isles that flow with wine and oil that never fails? ...
14But hearken, O my heart, the singing mariners that hoist the sails!
Wilfrid Thorley, Fleurs de Lys: A Book of French Poetry Freely Translated into English Verse. Boston and New York: Houghton Mifflin, 1920. 247-48. Internet Archive.
RPO poem Editors:
Data entry: Sharine Leung