Yon headland, with the twinkling footed sea
Beyond it, conjures shapes and stories fair
Of young Greek days: the lithe immortal air
Carries the sound of Siren-song to me:
Soon shall I mark Ulysses daringly
Swing round the cape, the sea-wind in his hair:
And look! The Argonauts go sailing there
A golden quest, shouting their god-like glee.
The vision is compact of blue and gold,
Of sky and water, and the drift of foam,
And thrill of brine-washed breezes from the west:
Wide peace is in it, and the unexpressed
Great heart of Nature, and the magic old
Of legend, and the white ships coming home.