THIS sea will never die, neither will it ever grow
old
nor cease to be
blue, nor in the dawn
cease to lift up its hills
and let the slim black ship of
Dionysos come sailing in
with grape-vines up the mast, and dolphins
leaping.
What do I care if the smoking ships
of the P. & O. and the
Orient Line and all the other stinkers
cross like clock-work the Minoan
distance!
They only cross, the distance never changes.
And now that the moon who gives
men glistening bodies
is in her exaltation, and can look down on the
sun
I see descending
from the ships at dawn
slim naked men from Gnossos, smiling the archaic
smile
of those that
will without fail come back again,
and kindling little fires upon the
shores
and
crouching, and speaking the music of lost
languages.
And the Minoan Gods, and the Gods of Tiryns
are heard softly laughing and
chatting, as ever;
and Dionysos, young, and a stranger
leans listening on the gate, in all
respect.