Classic Poem

When the sailor left the seas
They swayed like June's thick-leavèd trees;

The winds seemed only nightingales
That sang so sweetly leafy tales

Of rustic vows among deep leaves—
Of Thisbe's love, how Priam grieves.

The sailor stumps his wooden leg
In shady lanes where he must beg,

Till skies shone like the fields he knew—
Golden with buttercups and dew;

Then, slightly drunk, he sees an Inn
Beckon him to step within.

The parlor runs on feathered feet;
Bird-like, ‘Neptune, thee we greet,’

It cries; the flames, an albatross,
Float on blue air like waves that toss,

Bird-like shriek, ‘The sea floats still
Just above the window-sill!’

‘No, it is June's thick blue trees.’
Heeding not the sound of these

Across the bar, through silver spray
Of the sweet and blossomed May,

Leaned the Circean landlady,
With her dark locks leafy shady

And eyes that seemed the dancing sound
Of waves upon enchanted ground.

‘Did you batter down Troy's wail
(Silver hawthorn trees grown tall),

Did you beg the Khan for mercy,
Did you meet the lady Circe?’

‘She is changing like the sea . . .
Shadow, like a lovely lady

With an elegant footfall,
Never seemed so lovely; all

Her airs were beautiful as sleep,
Or dew too fair for flower to weep.’