Classic Poem

str. I

They say Sidonian sailors dive for purple and sea-pearls
Where the human-headed fish-god lives and the old sea-dragon curls;
And go in ships to Ophir by the wide palm-waving capes
For peacocks, gold and ivory, almug-wood and apes,
And, coming by the Red Sea, bring chalcedonies and beryls
And amethysts for feasting kings to quell the fume of grapes.

ant. I

And traders bring from Tarshish in beaked boats on the windy seas
Plates of silver, iron and tin, amber and ambergris;
And camels come from Havilah by the road to Paradise
With mountain gold and cassia, spikenard and sweet spice,
And bring from Sheba silken scarfs and blue-lipped negresses,
Perfumes and dyes and singing dwarfs, incense and golden mice.

ep. I

But though one were a tunny to swim through the ribs of sunken ships
And gaze on the wavy glimmer of yellow amber and gold,
Or a stone-eating ostrich to fly to the buried cities of old
With their porphyry cups that dyed king Chedorlaomer's lips,
Yet nothing there is could bless the sight of the eye or yield
Such joy as the hidden treasure that lies in a man's own field.

str. II

O Love, that combest the shaggy locks of the mountain lion's mane
And filest the teeth of the crocodile's jaws in his nest in the watercane,
Plucking the sting from the banded wasp and the quills from the porcupine
And dripping like myrrh from the panther's claws and the horns of the Jordan kine;
Sweeter than pipes to the horned asp on the lips of a sweet pipeplayer
Or Eshcol grapes to the laughing fox or a honey-comb to the bear:

ant II

Love, that bringest the plump-fleshed quails to build on the fallow ground
And blowest the cuckoo's call from the wood like a floating bubble of sound,
Teaching the crested hoopoe to read where the secret waters run
And rousing the bald-headed eagle's blood to plunge headlong in the sun,
Making like yellow amber beads the eyes of the cushat-dove
And painting the peacock's outspread tail with a thousand eyes of love:

ep. II

Love, O king Love, the conqueror of beasts and the tribes of birds
And long-spiked chariots splashed with war, tall crowns and wine-dark swords,
Though a king should lead an army south and conquer by force or guile.
The untameable heart of the many-mouthed dragon of ancient Nile
And heap on a thousand ox-hide shields the riches of Mizraim,
He too would lose the last-fought field, for love would conquer him;
Nor could he find in the famous land of the flat-nosed Lubim more
Than the Demon holds in his subtle hands that crouches beneath his door